The New Recruit
by POGs
Summary: Don't blame the other POGs for this fluff, my account Botticelli50 is acting up. Harry & Ruth's cat & mouse relationship is threatened by the catalyst of a new recruit.
1. Chapter 1

**THE NEW RECRUIT**

**By Liz **

_**This is a short interlude of romantic fluff. Written as an antidote after the extended fic of NY NY to prove to myself that small is not necessarily inferior! This is shaping up to be a 2-parter with more adult content in part 2 but not a bodice-ripper!  
As usual there is no claim to the grown-up characters who inhabit the 'real' world of Kudos's 'Spooks'.**_

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The liquid gaze of Ruth's luminous eyes focused on Harry as he sat back in his chair: cocooned behind the glass walls of his office; cut off from his staff and yet able at all times to observe the comings and goings of the main area of the Grid. It was one of their favourite games of cat and mouse – the watched watching the watcher – with all the stealth of operatives trained in counter-surveillance it was an activity that could be ongoing and yet always deniable. If challenged, even by a slightly raised eyebrow or a flicker of a smile, Ruth's eyes would instantly refocus on the screen in front of her that was ostensibly the primary object of her attention. Did he always know when she was watching him? Certainly he watched her. She had developed what might almost be termed a sixth sense; an intuitive awareness of when his eyes were trained on her, observing her, assessing her, dare she hope, wanting her. Not a day passed without she raised her gaze and momentarily caught his eyes focused on her before he looked away, disguising his interest. 

It was both exciting and faintly ridiculous. Two grown intelligent adults behaving in a manner that would have seemed absurd to Victorian spinsters. Neither willing to chance their hand and openly declare their feelings in case they were rejected; or more relevantly, neither willing to overstep the bounds of decorum that defined their professional working relationship. Ruth was almost constantly in a state of heightened agitation. One moment she chastised herself that it was the most clichéd office scenario: falling for your boss, almost as clichéd as actors falling for each other whilst on set. She should pull herself together, date other men, look beyond the figure within the glass enclosure for her emotional fulfilment and yet the next moment she would hear his voice low and passionate and her heart would beat like a trapped bird trying to escape through a glass window and her stomach would turn somersaults. He was always there, hovering just within her personal space, intruding and yet never touching her. Tantalising, beguiling, compelling and yet unreachable. The arm casually resting on the back of her chair, so close she could smell his cologne and yet was such proximity just a natural consequence of the familiarity of colleagues that meant just that to him or was it a sign of something more? A tacit acknowledgement of the chemistry that seemed at times incandescent in the air between them.

Yet what if she dared? Dared to take a leap of faith and encourage what she suspected but perhaps only wished he also felt. What then? Passionate kisses (Oh God yes, how she fantasised endlessly of actually touching him, feeling the strength of his arms holding her and his soft lips exploring hers, the intensity was a physical ache that suffused her body), sensual coupling and then what? The romantic in her saw endless days and nights of intimacy and love; the realist predicted initial euphoria and carnal gratification followed by the arguments and tensions that would surely creep into the union of two such stubborn characters and a disastrous and messy ending to the relationship that would force her to leave Section D. Far safer not to go down that route – the opportunity for ecstasy lost but also the prospect of disaster averted and so they went on impinging on each others personal space but never overtly; dancing an elaborate pas-de-deux of desire and muted gestures that climaxed only in a failure of nerve.

Too little and yet by necessity enough. Harry often found his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he fought the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch her; to cross the Rubicon and make the decisive move. He was likewise aware of the absurdity of their decorous charade. During his successful career he had combined his intelligence & clarity of thought with a dark ruthless streak to achieve and maintain his current position of seniority in a highly competitive dog-eat-dog environment and yet in close proximity to Ruth he was left tongue-tied, hesitant and crass, resembling nothing so much as an inept teenager. He held back however, for similar reasons to Ruth: anxieties that a relationship once embarked on might end disastrously as sooner or later all of his love affairs had done before, which would result in her leaving altogether and with the added concern that as the older and more senior of the two he would be bringing unfair pressure on her to acquiesce if he openly declared his feelings. Deep down perhaps it was the spook in him however that dictated his caution – never show your hand, always keep to the higher ground and maintain the advantage, revelation is weakness, knowledge, control. So he too kept his desire and affection repressed if not totally hidden. Glimpses of the man behind the mask of self-control could be noted by the more gimlet-eyed of his colleagues, but were assiduously ignored by an ambivalent Ruth.

Into this charged atmosphere of frustration and anticipation stepped the catalyst of the new recruit. Catherine Palmerston was everything that Ruth was not. Confident to the point of brashness but with the veneer of sophistication that an expensive education provided and openly flirtatious. A sexual predator. The sort that women scorn and men secretly admire. Seconded from 6, her reputation as a man-eater and a high achiever preceded her. Zaf was apprehensive when he heard of her imminent arrival – he had already been taken up, sampled and spat out by Ms Palmerston during a particularly dull operation at the Jordanian Embassy. Ros was similarly unimpressed by the former colleague who had seemed more preoccupied with adding notches to her bedpost than focussing on operations. Bets were already being laid as to who would be her first target in Section D. Adam was not surprisingly the clear favourite – he had looks, seniority, a certain sardonic arrogance and the challenge of a tragic background – an irresistible combination to a woman of Catherine Palmerston's ambition. The question was whether Adam would cave into her sexual onslaught immediately or put up a fight. The common aphorism that women require a reason for sex whilst men merely require a place, might in their case be reversed. The Grid waited with bated breath and there was fervid activity around the water cooler for days before her arrival.

Harry marched onto the Grid closely followed by the slim elegant figure of Catherine Palmerston who seemed to have been poured into a corseted black dress that left little to the imagination. Her immaculately waxed and bronzed legs were lengthened by the vertiginous heels of her black patent court shoes and her copper highlighted hair was swept into a neat chignon that yet held the promise that it would come cascading own at the slightest touch. Her makeup was expensive and her perfume exclusive but to female observers both seemed a touch over-applied. The complete package shouted class, money and availability. Ruth eyed her curiously, like an exotic animal being paraded on a leash and frowned her disapproval when she observed Catherine touching Harry's arm and whispering in his ear. A stirring of jealousy gripped her as she speculated that being higher up the hierarchy Harry might actually be Catherine Palmerstons primary target rather than Adam; but then she dismissed the idea that Harry would allow himself to be beguiled by such obvious charms. Harry on the contrary seemed, ostensibly at least, to be relishing the attentions that Catherine Palmerston was lavishing on him. He smiled and joked and his eyes flashed flirtatiously back at her as he gave one of his rare open smiles. Adam came forward and shook hands, both amused at her play for what would prove to be an unobtainable target and slightly miffed that she considered him lower down the pecking order of desirability than Harry. Catherine however was perfectly happy to back more that one horse in a race and also know from past experience that setting alpha males against each other for the attentions of a female was often the easiest way to gain their undivided attention.

"Oh hello Adam, it's been too long. We must get together and talk over old times."

Adam smiled back enigmatically.  
"Lovely to see you again Catherine, broken any hearts recently?"

"Oh you know, one tries one's best."

Catherine laughed a low, sexy, provocative chuckle as she glanced under her eyelashes at Harry who smiled back at her. Ruth's heart sank. Maybe he was playing a devious game but maybe he wasn't. This dreadful predatory woman was just going to walk in and claim him without giving a damn about professional etiquette or protocol and whatever his declared stance on self discipline and self denial Harry was a man. A middle-aged man with what Ruth suspected was still a healthy libido, being handed a sexual invitation on a plate by a younger, attractive and obviously available woman. Ruth felt her eyes involuntarily begin to fill with tears and she turned away hastily and grabbing a pile of folders she disappeared into the meeting room. She closed the door and placed the files on the table. Unable to control her emotions she buried her face in her hands and felt tears run down her cheeks and drip onto her blouse.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid woman" she whispered to herself. Suddenly she felt hands on her shoulders and a familiar voice murmur in her ear.

"Don't upset yourself Ruth, she's not worth it."

Ruth smiled through her tears.

"Thanks Malcolm, but I'm fine really. Just a headache, it's nothing to do with Catherine Palmerston. Why should it be? I don't even know the woman. Why should she upset me?"

Malcolm sighed. If Ruth was still going to take refuge in denial then he wasn't going to be able to provide much comfort and he didn't want to intrude further.

"Well take something for it before the meeting and if anything is ever troubling you, you know I'm always available to talk to."

Noises outside the door heralded the arrival of the team. Harry walked in and didn't seem to notice Malcolm standing with his arm around Ruth's shoulders, but his peripheral vision had taken in the whole scene, including Ruth's reddened eyes and pale complexion. He was both concerned at her obvious distress but also heartened that she had betrayed signs of caring for him. He gestured to the others to sit down and Catherine immediately placed herself next to him, shifting her chair up so that her knee touched his under the table. Harry was happy to encourage utilising sexual attraction to achieve goals in an operation and as long as the agents were happy to participate little was off limits; but it was a different matter within the office and flirtation as a strategy towards himself was particularly not welcomed. He could find a woman for sex if he chose without difficulty and he believed that with fewer professional qualms he could have had love, affection and intimacy with one of his staff without looking beyond the confines of the Grid but in relation to both he preferred to keep his own counsel and not lay himself open to blackmail or compromise. If Catherine Palmerston thought she would make him the next notch on her bedpost then she was in for a disappointment but it didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy stringing her along for a while, both to confound the other members of the team and perhaps give him further clues as to the depth of Ruth's feelings.

"I'd like to begin by formally introducing Ms Palmerston to you all. As you know Ms Palmerston has been seconded ….."

"Please, call me Catherine" interjected a husky, purring voice.

Harry smiled his assent and patted her hand that conveniently lay touching his on the table. Zaf choked on the water he was sipping and Ruth stared with mute consternation at the uncharacteristic gesture of familiarity.

"By all means, Catherine, will be with us for the duration of operation Butterfly, which as I hope you are all aware is the task of safeguarding the foreign dignitaries who will be gathered for the Special Commonwealth crisis talks that have been called for next week."

"Surely this is more a job for Special Branch?" Jo ventured.

Harry smiled at her in his most condescending manner, as though he were a teacher dealing with a persistent but dim-witted pupil.

"Well normally yes, but the inclusion of several high profile members of Middle Eastern royal families not to mention hostile African governments in functions at high-level locations including Westminster and Buckingham Palace makes this Conference a high-risk terrorist event, both as a potential target and as a means for terrorists to infiltrate and strike at the heart of British government and monarchy. So certainly not a scenario that we can leave to Special Branch plods with any degree of confidence."

Jo, humiliated by her failure to grasp what was obvious to all her colleagues, blushed deep scarlet.

"You're obviously new" said Catherine dismissively; never one to let an opportunity to put down rival females pass her by "it's difficult to comprehend the complexities of these events until you gain more experience."

Ruth fumed inwardly. How dare this painted Jezebel parade in here and lord it over poor Jo and how dare Harry let her get away with it.

"So urm … Ms Palmerston, tell us how do you think we should organise the operation?"

The question was innocuous in itself, but all those around the table know that it was not usual for Ruth to openly challenge strangers and it was only Harry and more recently Ros, who had been directly at the receiving end of her barbed comments. It warmed Harry's heart to see her rise up to defend Jo, but he showed no outward sign of his approval beyond a slight raising of an eyebrow.

Catherine bathing in the glow of inflated self-esteem took the question at face value and launched into a detailed proposal of the allocation of field operatives, the nature and extent of surveillance and emergency measures in the event of an attack.

Ruth smiled sweetly at Catherine but her eyes were stormy.

"I'm so glad you've been able to join the team for this operation Ms Palmerston, your organisational skills will be invaluable."This time it was Adam who had to hide his amusement. A clash of wills and personalities between the egotistical, overconfident Catherine and the intellectually superior but diffident Ruth, with Harry as the prize, could prove this to be an eventful op, if only within the confines of the Grid.

Harry, having already reached the same conclusion, without perhaps realising that his affections were the primary target of the warring parties, moved briskly onto allocating tasks and responsibilities. His mind remained focused despite the disconcerting presence of Catherine, who had edged her chair again fractionally closer to his, so that her knee was firmly pressed against his thigh and it was also fleetingly joined by her hand that 'accidentally' brushed against his leg as she reached into her handbag.

"Lucky old devil" murmured Zaf to Adam as they exited through the pods.

"From what I heard I wouldn't have thought you would give Catherine Palmerston such a glowing reference."

Zaf laughed off the referral to his all-too-public humiliation.

"Oh yes, I was one of the many casualties, but whilst it lasted it was pretty exciting. I hope Harry's ticker is up to it."

"Well I wouldn't be handing out condoms just yet. Harry is a wily old fox, you never know what game he's playing and certainly he normally prefers to be in the driving seat."

Zaf snorted "Well in that case it's definitely a case of fasten your seatbelts you're in for a bumpy ride."

Malcolm overheard the ribaldry and frowned. He didn't like to hear Harry the object of such coarse gossip, it was demeaning and he knew it would cause Ruth heartache. He had a soft spot for the analyst with her fragrant fragile beauty and her piercing intelligence. Malcolm was one of those rare men for whom the sexual promise of women like Catherine Palmerston held little appeal. It was not that he had totally sublimated sexual desire but rather that he was turned on by old-fashioned values such as bravery, honesty and cultural refinement. He viewed with distaste Catherine's blatant play for Harry and was puzzled by his boss's reluctance to repel her advances.

Ruth meanwhile was vacillating between anger and hurt. How could Harry condone such outrageous behaviour? She had been unable to resist the temptation to glance under the table as she reached for a dropped pen during the meeting and had clearly seen Catherine's knee pressed against Harry's and her fingertips lingering on his thigh. Normally Harry would have issued some icily sardonic put-down and halted Catherine Palmerston's advances but he had given no indication of doing so. There was only one answer to such a puzzle – he fancied her and was enjoying the attention Catherine was lavishing on him. Enjoying it to the extent of ignoring his normally high standards of propriety. "Bloody hypocrite" muttered Ruth to herself, blinking back the sting of tears that were again brimming up "so much for self control and self denial well I hope the shag's worth all the betrayal of his so-called principles" "and of me" whispered a tiny broken little voice inside her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**THE NEW RECRUIT**

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Warning there is some mild adult content in this chapter but nothing too steamy.  
Only one chapter written and I've already failed miserably in my intended schedule – this is definitely not going to be finished in 2 chapters but I promise you that neither will it stretch to 21!!**_

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Scene: The Mansion House, London

The situation did not improve when they were all detailed by Juliet to mingle amongst the Commonwealth leaders and their retinues at the welcome function organised at the Mansion House. It was a very formal affair with blazing chandeliers that gave the lie to any suggestion of conserving energy in the face of global warming and a full silver service banquet laid out in great splendour on the huge refectory table that stretched the length of the great banqueting hall. Section D, unlike their grander counterparts at 6, had been detailed to arrive after the guests had risen from the table:

"Obviously not wearing the correct school tie to qualify but good enough to stop a bullet if required" Harry had remarked bitterly to Juliet when she had informed him of the security service apartheid that was in operation.

"It's nothing to do with old school ties Harry don't go all bourgeois on me, it's just a question of protocol, many of the heads of state do not expect to sit down with what they perceive as glorified policemen."

"Bugger protocol" said Harry with warmth "anyway what are 6 for God's sake except a bunch of arrogant city rejects who all imagine they're James bloody Bond?"

Despite Harry's protests Juliet remained obdurate and the team arrived at the Mansion House just in time to hear the Jazz Band warming up in the main reception area.

Naturally the dress code was formal black tie, which provided Catherine Palmerston with a perfect venue to parade her physical attributes. The reception room was crowded with guests who wore a dazzling array of clothing ranging from exotic national costumes to barely there haute couture creations set off by discreet but fabulously expensive jewels. Catherine and Ros appeared together and presented an empowering if somewhat alarming vision of two sleek predators who would show no mercy to their intended prey. Catherine seemed to have been physically fused with her gold sequined sheath that was backless to the cleft of her perfect bottom and only just covered the vital parts of her pert breasts; it was a dress so explicitly not worn over any undergarments that it would have made Donatella Versace blush. Ros was dressed in a similarly dramatic if not quite so revealing creation of black stretch satin with a plunging neckline accentuated by a diamond encrusted necklace that certainly was not purchased on an MI5 operatives salary. They glided over to the bar, barely acknowledging the open glance of lust that was lavished on their bodies by Zaf as he served drinks to the Ugandan delegation.

Adam noticed Ruth enter the room shyly, with her eyes sweeping the gathering for a familiar face. Whilst he acknowledged that he had responded along with all of the other red-blooded males in the room to the sexual siren call of Catherine and Ros; Ruth was the epitome of a rarer beauty: refined and elegant, her fascinating ethereal features would have captured the imagination of any artist seeking an enduring muse. Ruth was dressed in her favourite outfit of a corseted gown of deep Venetian red velvet that was draped in elegant folds across her décolleté and was set off by an antique ruby and gold necklace that glowed against her pale skin. The combination of her upswept hair, classic dress and wistful expression, made her seem a walking embodiment of one of the Edwardian portraits of society beauties that lined the walls of the room.

Harry was deep in conversation with the Indian Foreign Minister as they shared a drink. His attention seemed wholly focused on the discussion of the problem of Kashmir, but in fact he had duly observed the entrance of the two willowy figures who were already raising the testosterone levels in the room. He had only felt a frisson of sexual desire however when he saw Ruth arrive. She was looking particularly exquisite – her formal gown set off her curvaceous figure with elegance and aplomb and for not the first time in his mind's eye he crossed the room, put his arms around her shoulders and drew her soft plump cherry lips to his. Harry blinked himself back to the task in hand.

"Of course we have to remain even-handed in relation to the problem. Pakistan remains a key strength as well as weakness in the front-line defence against Al Qaeda insurgents, but I do appreciate it is a dangerous and difficult matter for you to deal with." Moving on before he could be too deeply embroiled in the political morass of the Indian subcontinent, Harry retreated to the bar. Seconds later he was aware of a pungent , musky female perfume close to him.

"I thought you were here to mingle with the delegates?"

"Oh I will, all in good time but I'd like to loosen up a little first. How about a dance?"

The band was providing accompaniment to a soul singer who was crooning old Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone numbers. As Ruth watched Catherine Palmerston leading Harry by the hand onto the dance floor her stomach constricted and she felt she was going to be sick. Harry began by holding Catherine at a decorous distance once he had delicately negotiated his way around the large expanse of exposed bare flesh but she took the opportunity of a change in tempo to wrap herself around his contours and place her cheek next to his. Adam moved away from the wife of the Nigerian consulate he had been chatting to and made his way across to Ruth. He didn't know what game Harry was playing but he wasn't prepared to stand by and watch Ruth's haunted eyes following Catherine Palmerston's well rehearsed moves without trying to ease her misery.

"Come on Ruth, let's give it a twirl. You know you want to."

"No Adam … really I .. I couldn't"

"I won't take no for an answer, you'll dent my fragile ego if you turn me down."

Ruth smiled up at him, her large pale blue eyes liquid with emotion.

They made a striking pair: the devastatingly handsome Adam in his black tie outfit which fitted his tall, lean figure like a glove and set off his blond Nordic looks to perfection, accompanied by the petite dark beauty with the beatific smile and captivating eyes. Adam moved with elegant professionalism around the dance floor and within a few minutes had manoeuvred alongside Harry and Catherine. In a seamlessly smooth move he dropped his hold on Ruth, cut across Harry and extracted Catherine from her boa constrictor grasp on Harry's torso.

"Excuse me, but I think you've monopolised this irresistible woman quite long enough."

Before Catherine had chance to utter a protest she was gone. Whirled away in a flurry of turns in Adam's unyielding grasp. He placed his mouth to her ear.

"Back off Catherine and stop your games, we've an operation to focus on."

Catherine scowled a reply at him.

"None of your bloody business Adam Carter, just because you're second fiddle in love as well as position."  
"Love's certainly got nothing to do with it and Harry doesn't need me looking out for him. It's someone else you're hurting with this behaviour who I'm very fond of and if you don't stop trying to seduce Harry so blatantly you'll be flying back to 6 so fast you're elegant feet won't touch the ground. Now get on with what you've been brought her for and make yourself available to the guests."

Adam smiled his most dazzling, charm-ridden smile at her and led her firmly by the elbow to a large table of boisterous inebriated young bloods from Australia House.

Meanwhile Harry and Ruth were left facing each other on the dance floor, momentarily at a loss for words.

"May I?" Harry's voice was low and cracked with desire. Ruth nodded her agreement as she couldn't think of a good excuse to refuse him and soon she felt Harry's arm around her waist pulling her closer towards him.

"You look exquisite and desirable Ruth" he whispered into her ear.

Ruth tried to smile her thanks for the complement but she still felt too tearful to totally conceal her distress as she looked after the retreating bare back of Catherine.

"Well there are degrees of desirability Harry"

He snorted his response "That is certainly available but not desirable, at least not to me"

Ruth glanced up at him.

"Are you sure of that? You seemed to be making a convincing case to the contrary."

"Come on Ruth you know me better than that. There's only one woman here who can tempt me to lose control."  
Harry's murmuring sensual voice caressed her with a physicality that was like the touch of silk on her skin; but she fought against letting her emotions run away with her. She was conscious that her heart was hammering so hard that Harry must be feeling it as he pressed her body against his chest.

"I, I think we should be mingling Harry. We are meant to be watching out for an attack."

"I agree, but a couple dancing raise less suspicion than single agents lurking at every corner. We can watch the room and still keep moving, it's called multi-tasking Ruth."

"Oh very funny".

Ruth desperately tried to think of neutral conversation as she avoided the intense gaze of Harry's warm hazel eyes that were expressing a pent-up desire and passion that both excited and frightened her. If he was going to get carried away by the heat of the moment then she had to stay focused. She couldn't allow him to make an open show of affection to his subordinate in the middle of a high profile operation. She made fluttering movements to try and release his hold on her so she could put distance between them before she lost all ability to control her responses. As if predicting her thoughts, Harry strengthened his hold on her. At that moment the band slowed down the tempo even further and the Chanteuse began to croon the classic number "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" :

" I'm wild again  
Beguiled again  
A simpering, whimpering child again  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Couldn't sleep  
And wouldn't sleep  
Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Lost my heart but what of it?  
My mistake I agree.  
He's a laugh, but I like it  
Because the laughs on me.

A pill he is  
But still he is  
All mine and I'll keep him until he is  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered  
Like me.

Seen a lot  
I mean a lot  
But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

I'll sing to him  
Each spring to him  
And worship the trousers that cling to him  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

When he talks he is seeking  
Words to get off his chest  
Horizontally speaking  
He's at his very best

Vexed again  
Perplexed again  
Thank God I can't be over-sexed again  
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I ……"

The more the song progressed and the more intimate the lyrics, the closer Harry held her. Ruth made a gesture to move off the dance floor but Harry placed one hand on her lower back whilst with the other he brought her arm into his chest, drawing her into a close embrace as they moved in slow circles to the music. Ruth allowed her head to rest against him and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear as he whispered

"Your heart is beating rather fast Ruth, are you frightened of something?"

"Oh that's just an adrenalin rush, as you are always fond of pointing out to me it's a natural response when in a field operation."

Harry chuckled and the vibration travelled through their united forms. Ruth felt as though she was in a state of hyper-alertness – it seemed as though her very nerve ends were tingling. She was intensely aware of Harry's physical proximity – the bulk of his broad, strong body grasping her in a rather presumptuous, almost indecent manner whilst the scent of his expensive spicy cologne blended with his body heat, giving off an alluring and intoxicating aroma. A pent-up tension hovered between them like sparking wires. So close to crossing the line, so close, so tempting; but she called on the very last reserve of self control to stop her irrepressible desire to anoint his skin with lingering kisses. She closed her eyes to separate herself from the source of her desire. All the more intense then was the sensation when Harry's soft full lips brushed lightly against her ear as he murmured.

"I think this can definitely be construed as mingling."

Ruth felt her knees tremble as her body yearned for Harry to ease her sexual frustration.

He was likewise fighting a mental battle with his animal urges that were giving lie to his claim to always be in control. He loved Ruth, he admired her intellect, morality and strength of character and he appreciated her refined beauty; but tonight he was also overcome by unadulterated lust. The sight of her soft curves swelling above the swathes of velvet and her exquisite expressive eyes looking up at him stirred his passion to the point that he didn't care who was watching or what he was meant to be doing. He just wanted to taste those soft inviting lips, to part their palpitating fullness, to possess them and sink his tongue into her mouth. With such thoughts the inevitable happened and Ruth's eyes snapped open with alarm and incredulity as she felt the pressure of his erection against her body.

"Harry!"

"I'm sorry Ruth, sometimes mind over matter doesn't always work."

Ruth inwardly groaned with desire as her imagination conjured up the image of her lying on a bed and Harry entering her slowly. The thought was so intense she could physically feel it happening and her muscles contracted with anticipation. She glanced down briefly. There was no way she could leave him like this and not subject him to the speculation and ridicule of his entire team, never mind the remainder of the distinguished gathering.

"We can't dance indefinitely Harry. You're going to have to take a mental cold shower and quickly."

"Yes I know, but initially we have to hide the evidence" responded Harry in a voice charged with honeyed desire, who seemed unperturbed by the potentially embarrassing situation he was in. His hand lowered onto the top of her bottom and imperceptibly pressed her against his hardened, pulsating erection. Ruth gasped.

"Harry. You'll make it worse. For goodness sake, you couldn't have chosen a more public spot. You're an MI5 Section Head conducting a vital mission of state security. Have you totally taken leave of your senses?" She sounded far more controlled and rational than she was feeling. Harry's body was irradiating heat and in response her heart felt that it was going to go into full cardiac arrest, its beat was so accelerated and intense.

"Well at least Harry seems to be having a good time playing the field" grumbled Zaf as he offered Adam a drink from the tray he was carrying.

"How come I always get the waiter's job, it's discrimination."

"No it isn't Zaf, it's just limiting your charm offensive.

"Well Harry doesn't seem to be setting a very good example at the moment in respect of discretion. Have you seen how close he's holding Ruth?"

"That's just his cover" said Adam with more conviction that he felt.

"These events are always full of aging Lotharios chancing their arm; he's just blending in."

"Yeah right, if that what you call it I think I'll go off and do some blending in of my own."

"Oh God and they say women gossip" interjected Ros's dry caustic tones, "haven't you two got anything better to do than stand discussing the symptoms of Harry's male menopause?"

Zaf smiled guiltily at her but with an appreciative glint in his eye as his gaze swept down her contours before he breezed off with his tray, leaving the two tall blond agents standing briefly and strikingly together.

"I'm glad you saw off that Lacroix clothes horse earlier but Zaf does have a point. This is an important op and all Harry can do is make sheeps eyes at our resident Dark Lady. I wish he'd just bed her and refocus his attention on what he's being paid for."

"We're all entitled to a private life Ros."

"Not in this job we're not. If Harry wanted to spend his time chasing his subordinates round the office table he should have stayed in the Army."

Meanwhile Harry had manoeuvred his way through the crowd on the dance floor and unobserved by all except the narrowed stare of Catherine Palmerston, had drawn Ruth through a heavy, elaborately inlaid door and slammed her against the wall. His hot passionate kisses engulfed her and she surrendered helplessly to a response of sensation and desire. His hands were relentless and intimate in their exploration of her contours, stroking the thick luxurious fabric of her dress up and down her thighs and bottom, whilst his mouth sucked her open lips and his tongue slid against hers. She kissed him back with equal passion, stroking the back of his head with a trembling hand. His mouth moved searingly down the skin of her neck as he murmured "I want you Ruth". The word, purred in an ecstasy of carnal desire made her dizzy with their intensity, but also set off warning bells in her head..

"No Harry, stop. This is wrong. Not here. Not now."

Harry groaned and pressed his forehead against hers, his hand still stroking her inner thigh through her dress.  
"Yes. Regretfully you're right." Harry released his hold on her and fumbled with his trousers in an attempt to disguise his tumescence.

"But the night is not over yet" he warned in a low, dangerous voice.

"No neither is the operation" replied Ruth faintly as the significance of his words sunk in.

"A Bientot" murmured Harry and as a parting shot reached in with a heated, passionate, demanding kiss that left her breathless and light-headed.

Harry slipped through the door and when Ruth followed him moments later, having given her flushed face a chance to return to a less tell-tale colour, she saw him chatting away to the Emir of Bahrain as if the events of the last five minutes were purely a figment of her fevered imagination. She headed for the Ladies, feeling the need for a few moments of privacy to collect her thoughts before she assumed the mask of deception once more. She stood in front of the mirror tweaking the clips that held her hair in place whilst she tried to make sense of what had happened. Suddenly the painstakingly constructed world of tact and control that was her daily life had been torn apart by a passion and urgency that even Ruth had not believed possible. The calculating, private persona of Harry Pearce had been revealed as only a surface mask beneath which impassioned and intense feelings created a turmoil of desire and longing. In this brief breathing space she had to decide rationally what had to be done; for much as she had been overwhelmed with the force of Harry's desire for her, she realised that it was she who would determine the outcome of the evening. It was very clear what Harry intended: a satisfactory conclusion to the operation followed by a night of intimacy and ecstasy with her. It was what she had hoped for, had dreamed of, in so many imagined scenarios for so long; and yet, and yet it was not too late to pull back from the brink before they were both consumed in a vortex of sexual passion and intense love that could destroy them both. The words of T S Eliot's The Love Song of Alfred Prufrock rang in her mind:

"And indeed there will be time  
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and 'Do I dare?'  
Time to turn back and descend the stair ….  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

Was this hesitation just a failure of nerve or a lifeline to avoid an act of absolute folly? She could not deny that she was thrilled to discover that Harry felt about her as she did about him so that she felt happiness blossom inside her like the unfolding petals of an exotic flower that spills its fragrance in the air at dusk, but her rational mind argued back that that was just a rush of chemicals in the brain and she giggled inwardly to herself that Harry was her recreational drug of choice, her amphetamine, her speed, her ecstasy (oh most definitely her ecstasy!). No she must not be sidetracked, she must decide what she was going to do: a night of unbridled and longed for sexual union with an amorous Harry or yet another night of misery and regret at lost opportunities – a no-brainer obviously. So Ovaltine and a volume of Proust's Recherche du Temps Perdu it was then. A failure of nerve, she was an expert at that, perhaps she should have her name changed to Anne Elliott and have done with it except in her case she couldn't imagine that her Captain Wentworth would still be hanging around waiting to give her another chance in 8 years time.

Whilst these thoughts were coursing through Ruth's mind she carried on fiddling with her hair whilst her pale face stared back at her in the mirror partly obscured by the gauze of tears that brimmed on the edge of her eyelids. A slight noise made her focus more keenly and she saw the tall slender figure of Catherine Palmerston appear behind her.

"My, my, you are the dark horse."

"Pardon?"

"Oh don't play coy with me Ruth. I saw you and Harry getting it on. That's fine, you should just have said and I wouldn't have tried poaching your territory."

Ruth was dismayed by Catherine's coarse tones and also at the prospect of her spreading gossip about them throughout the various departments of 5 and 6. This was precisely why she would have to smother the volcano of desire that had exploded to the surface; there was no way on earth that she was going to give the likes of Catherine Palmerston ammunition to ridicule Harry.

"I'm sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about."

Catherine looked at her in the mirror with a sceptical, amused expression.

Don't be silly Ruth it's obvious you and Harry want to make beautiful music together and I don't just mean Ella Fitgerald."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you Catherine, but there is nothing going on. We are just carrying out the brief for the op."

"Oh well in that case I'll carry on where I left off when Adam so rudely interrupted."

Ruth could sense that Catherine Palmerston was testing her and her heart sank at the prospect of Harry once more being the target of the siren's sexual offensive, but she just smiled her acquiescence. Hopefully Harry would continue to keep Catherine at arms length, although given the frustrated state he had been in earlier Ruth couldn't blame him if natural urges got the better of him; particularly if she informed the red-blooded male that lay behind the cool, enigmatic exterior that she would not be available as the main course. Oh God, what to do? Surrender to the desire they both had and embark on an affair that she knew from the depth of their mutual pent-up passion could not be a brief fling and would lead to all the complications and potential disasters she had already pondered or leave him open to the steam-rollering honey-trap that was Catherine Palmerston; who might just be intending to add Harry's scalp to the large number of pelts already taken from the male population of the security services but more worryingly might want to snare such a senior and charismatic figure in a more serious relationship.

Perhaps the solution was to abdicate responsibility. Get absolutely rat-arsed and sink into an oblivion in which the whole quagmire of emotions versus sense of duty would be forgotten. With that comforting thought of a possible short-term solution to her dilemma Ruth walked out of the Ladies and returned to the main reception room, picking up a large glass of red wine that sat invitingly on a side table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Catherine Palmerston slinking over to the achingly handsome figure of Harry, immaculate in his evening suit and crisp white dress shirt. Feeling she was either going to start crying or rush over and floor the gold lamed stick insect Ruth turned away, raised the glass to her lips and purposefully downed it's contents in one gulp.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had moved into the midst of a group of diplomats from the Ghanaian embassy. Catherine Palmerston cut her way through the crowd and linking her arm through his she said loud enough to be overheard by Ruth.

"Hello darling, have you missed me?" and taking his chin in her hand tilted his face towards her and kissed him fully on the lips with an open mouth, the scarlet tincture of her lipstick leaving a defining trace on the voluptuous contours of his lips.

"That bloody woman is going too far," hissed Jo indignantly in Ruth's ear.

"What the hell is she playing at? Harry's going to go ballistic."

Ruth was rooted to the spot watching the scene unfold with appalled fascination. Catherine, not content with insinuating herself into the group as Harry's partner, was now standing there with her arm around his back and her hand resting on his bottom. Harry smiled across at her, but to his colleagues in the room who know him well it was a warning sign – the calm before the storm.

Zaf sidled up to Jo and Ruth.

"Does she know what Harry's like when he blows his top?"

"I shouldn't think so but I hope I'm there to witness the fall out," replied Jo with feeling. Harry could be seen smiling and joking with the Ghanaians, apparently impervious to Catherine's presence.

"Do excuse us, we have some domestic arrangements to finalise."

Harry propelled the tall slim figure of Catherine towards the bar, his hand firmly placed on her back and his mouth inclined towards her head. To all the world it appeared that he was whispering sweet nothings in his partner's ear; but a closer inspection would have revealed Catherine's body stiffen and the colour drain from her face.

"That's the end of that little game plan," said Jo with satisfaction

"And I couldn't think of a more deserving loser. Pushy bitch!"

"Do you think she might be in need of a comfort shag?"

"Just stick to dispensing drinks Zaf and stay away from Mata Hari – that woman would give a female praying mantis a run for its money."

Ruth had already moved away from the bar when Harry arrived there and did not see his rejection of Catherine's latest onslaught. Armed with a triple strength Marguerite that she had coerced out of the barman, she was sticking to her brief and mingling with gusto; moving from group to group with sparkling eyes and an open demeanour. Zaf offering her another drink noted with some alarm her heightened colour, glazed eyes and manic smile.

"Are you alright Ruth?" he murmured.

"Who me? Great! Hunky Dory, never felt better! I'm having a ball, an absul … abso …. AbsoLUTELY FABulous time!!" at that moment Ruth grabbed hold of the arm of a tall handsome member of the Indian delegation and gave him a dazzling grin:  
"I'm sure you could give me an even better time handsome."

Zaf groaned and sped over to Adam, hissing urgently in his ear.

"Adam, we've got a crisis!"

"What?"

"Ruth's sozzled and she's accosting the guests."

"Ruth?!! Don't be stupid Zaf."

"I'm not joking Adam, she's absolutely blotto and throwing herself at every bloke in her path."

Adam glanced across and saw Ruth swaying slightly as she made her way to the dance floor with the suave Indian diplomat she had chatted up a few moments earlier. She was talking nineteen to the dozen and Adam was relieved to see by the bemused expression on his face that the diplomat understood little if any of what she was babbling. God knows what indiscretions she was letting slip. Bloody Catherine bloody Palmerston, it was her fault Ruth was in this state and he'd sort her out later, but the priority was to contain Ruth before she created a major diplomatic incident and also embarrassed herself beyond redemption. He moved swiftly towards the dance floor, but someone moved quicker. Harry was suddenly next to Ruth, one arm supporting her waist, the other firmly extracting her grip from the neck of the diplomat that she had draped herself around.

"You have to excuse my secretary, she has a tendency to over imbibe on these occasions."

Ruth smiled a broad fulsome grin at her boss.

"Hi Harry. Fancy meeting you here. Where's your floozy gone? Moved onto another client already?" Ruth began to giggle helplessly at her own witticism. Harry didn't know whether to be angry or amused at the state Ruth had got herself into. He was certainly disturbed when the next minute he felt Ruth's hand squeezing his bottom as she declared in a loud whisper, "what's good for the goose is good for the gander and it's such a nice arse, it hasn't been fondled nearly enough this evening," and the half hysterical giggling continued.

Harry manoeuvred himself out of Ruth's massaging grasp and guided her over to Jo who was standing wide-eyed, trying desperately not to dissolve into similar hysterical giggles to Ruth at the sight of the normally shy, demure analyst goosing their boss.

"Take her out of sight Jo and get her sobered up. I want you both back in here within ten minutes. This is not a student piss-up where the nerdy one gets drunk and the others laugh at her. Pull yourself together and grow up, we've got a job to do" and with a ferocious scowl he walked off.

"Bloody cheek" thought Jo "telling me off. I'm not the one who's drunk." But she obediently led Ruth towards the discreet swing doors that led through to a private lounge area. Having persuaded Ruth to take a seat, she went up to the bar and said, "I need strong coffee, lots of it and a bowl of very cold water."

Unfazed, the barman handed over a punchbowl full of water with a generous heap of ice cubes floating in it and set about making a series of quadruple espressos.

Jo carried the bowl back to the table and plunged Ruth's hands in it up to her wrists. Ruth gasped at the shock of the icy cold water, but despite her struggles, Jo held her wrists firmly submerged and fishing out two ice cubes dropped them down the back of Ruth's dress.

"Sorry Ruth, but desperate times call for desperate measures. If you're not sober in ten minutes, we're both in deep trouble."

Ruth looked serious and attempted to focus her eyes on Jo's face, but it kept dissolving into a multiple image that danced up and down in front of her. Her sense of gravity became disturbed and she felt as if the room was spinning round.

"I feel so dizzy," she moaned, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Jo grabbed Ruth's arm and propelled her into the toilet and shut the door. A couple of minutes later it openly slowly and an ashen-faced Ruth emerged.

"I'm so sorry Jo, I feel awful."

"You'll live," replied Jo cheerfully. "Now you need coffee, galleons of it."

Ruth, holding her head in her hands, walked gingerly back to the table and began to down the cups of coffee that were lined up on in front of her.

"Um, did I make a fool of myself out there?"

"Oh yes" Jo smiled and nodded her head vigorously "but we still love you. It's good to see your angel wings a little dented."

Ruth's head began to pound.

"I don't suppose you've got any aspirin?" she enquired of the resourceful barman.

"Oh better than that" he replied, handing Ruth two large pink capsules.

"These horse pills will cure the worst of headaches instantaneously."

"Do they blot out memory?" Ruth asked hopefully.

"No, sorry, they're not that miraculous. You'd better go back on the sauce if that's what you're looking for."

"Come on" urged Jo, "I promised Harry we'd be back on duty in ten minutes."

At the mention of his name Ruth groaned and put her head in her hands.

"I can't go out there" she whispered, "I made such a fool of myself". The recollection of Harry peeling her off the Indian diplomat and then her squeezing his bottom came back with excruciating clarity.

"Come on Ruth, Harry will forgive you getting tiddly and feeling his bottom, he won't forgive you not doing your job."

"I can't! I can't face them all."

A note of panic entered Ruth's voice and she looked as though she was about to bolt. Jo took hold of her hand and patted it.

"You can and you will. You're not going to give that bitch the satisfaction of seeing you upset. She didn't notice you squiffy, she was re-trowling her makeup in the Ladies."

"Alright. Yes. I'll come. You're right, I've got a job to do."

Ruth stood up, squared her shoulders and walked out after Jo.

On entering the main reception room again she avoided meeting Harry's eyes as he glanced over anxiously at her and instead made her way quietly and deliberately to the opposite end of the room; blushing furiously as she caught the look of panic that registered on the Indian diplomat's face as she walked past him.

"I will never, ever, as long as I live, drink in a public place again." Ruth resolved to herself as she focused on doing what she had been briefed before the whole Catherine Palmerston/alcohol debacle began.

The team settled back and the remainder of the function passed off without incident; unless the fracas caused by the drunken antics of the Australian delegates was taken into account and Adam had helped to remove them quietly and effectively, despite their best efforts to start a fight after their rugby scrum had been broken up. By 1am, the majority of the prominent guests had left and Harry ordered his team back to Thames House for a swift de-brief before the frantic schedule that was outlined for the next day began.

Harry sat at the head of the table in the meeting room, to Ruth's eyes devastatingly handsome in black dinner suit, his white dress shirt now unbuttoned and slightly dishevelled. Catherine Palmerston sat down near the bottom of the table, her eyes fixed downwards with a mutinous expression on her face. Whatever Harry had said to her had obviously made a lasting impression. Meanwhile he addressed his team as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred:

"Well done everyone. A successful babysitting operation even if we were not invited for canapés and sit-down bangers & mash; but the next 24 hours are going to be crucial, so you have to stay focused, there is no room for complacency. Did any of you pick up any unusual activity tonight? Anyone whose face didn't quite fit, who wasn't where they should have been?"

As he said this Harry's heavy-lidded eyes shot a piercing glance in Catherine Palmerston's direction.

"Um, er, yes, there was something. Well it was probably nothing, but it might be something. At least Mr Bhindi thought it was unusual."

Harry turned his gaze to Ruth and despite his best attempts at disguise, his eyes softened and his voice became gentle and encouraging.

"Yes Ruth, spit it out."

Ruth blushed furiously as her eyes momentarily met his and she felt she was going to die of shame and embarrassment. Everyone except Catherine Palmerston knew what was upsetting her and silently willed her to get through the meeting without breaking down. Ruth continued in a soft tense voice, her words tumbling over each other as she ploughed on with her exposition:

"Well Mr Bhindi, he's the Kashmiri Foreign Minister, well he said that he's sure he's seen some of the minor officials in the Indian delegation before."

"Well he would have done wouldn't he they're all diplomats" - Catherine Palmerstons dry sarcastic drawl interrupted Ruth. "I'm sorry but I'm tired and I need sleep, if the petty rivalries of the Indian subcontinent is the worst threat we face then I for one am off to find my bed."

"I will decide when this meeting is finished thank you Catherine" said Harry with an icy tone to his voice and turning to Ruth "Carry on Ruth"

"Yes well he obviously didn't mean he'd seen them before as delegates, what he was communicating is that these were not regular consular staff but yet the faces were somehow familiar to him."

"Alright, well its still probably a product of too much claret on his part, but we can't take any chances. Contact him and try and persuade him to come to Thames House to go through CCTV footage to identify which individuals he suspects and then run them through our database. Anyone else with helpful observations from the great and the good or indeed the lesser minions?"

"All three monkeys I'm afraid Harry" commented Adam

"Three monkeys?" questioned Jo

"See no evil, hear no evil, say no evil," explained Zaf.

"Oh God, junior needs her nappy changing again" muttered Catherine.

"Ah yes, Ms Palmerston" Harry leant back in his chair with his hands behind his head  
"Perhaps you would like to share with the rest of the team what parallel operation you were running in which we were meant to be a married couple. Not that I object in principle to initiative you understand, just it would have been useful to have been informed prior to the event."

Catherine raised her gaze to him and once again failing to read the darker sarcasm behind his words smiled beguilingly as the old seductive, come hither look came back into her eyes

"Oh it was just off the cuff. I thought you liked your agents to think on their feet?"

"Yes"-snapped back Harry with a narrowed, piercing expression in his eyes and an autocratic tone to his voice

"But only when appropriate. This op had been fully briefed in advance, all our lives are at risk when we go into the field as you well know and if you're not prepared to act as part of a team then you're no use to us, in fact you're a liability."

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, caught the expression in Harry's eyes and thought better of it. Mine you, he was irresistibly attractive when he was angry, she would have to give Harry Pearce some serious attention during her stay in Section D. Men were like Himalayan peaks to Catherine Palmerston, only there to be conquered: the more difficult the peak was to scale the more compelling the challenge and the greater the reward when it was achieved.

"Right. I suggest we all go home and grab a few hours sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow – the meeting at Westminster in the morning followed by the evening reception at Buckingham Palace, is probably going to make it the most high-risk day of the whole talks. I want you all back here at 8 am sharp. Goodnight."

Ruth was the first to move – she rose quickly from her chair and grabbing her long white coat, made for the door.

"Er Ruth, one moment please. I need to speak to you."

Ruth's heart sank as she felt everyone's gaze focused on her. She turned around, her hand still clutching the door handle

"Can't it wait Harry?"

"No."

Adam rose from the table and signalled to the others to move, whilst he went round to Catherine and whispered in her ear "I'd like a word Catherine, to discuss strategy for tomorrow and get a few things clear."

"How could any woman resist such an offer?" she replied with heavy sarcasm and followed him out onto the Grid.

As the room emptied, Harry gestured to Ruth to sit down as he closed the meeting room door.

"What went on at the reception Ruth? I've never seen you drink anywhere, never mind in the middle of an op."

"I'm sorry Harry, it was unforgivable. I was, I just, um, I didn't know quite what I was doing. I just felt things had got out of control between us and then …." Her voice trailed off and Harry continued:

"And then you saw Catherine Palmerston throwing herself at me and as usual jumped to the wrong conclusion and decided to drown your sorrows. Very flattering Ruth, but not very rational."

"I said I'm sorry Harry. You don't know how mortified I feel. I made an absolute fool of myself in front of everyone and jeopardised the op. If you want to discipline me I totally agree with you."

"I want", here Harry came round to where she was sitting wringing her hands together and perched on the table looking down at her "I want to reassure you Ruth that I have no intention now or in the future of taking advantage of Ms Palmerston's kind offer of her body, perfect as it may be. I'm way beyond the age of wanting casual sex – well" here Harry smiled ruefully "at least I'm way beyond the age of being willing to put up with all the hassle that comes with it."

"Well, I'm glad we got that straight. Now if you don't mind I'll try and get those few hours of sleep."

Harry put a restraining hand on Ruth's shoulder – "I do mind Ruth because I haven't finished. What happened between us…"

"Please don't talk about it."

"What happened between us" continued Harry firmly "was not an aberration, you know that as well as I."

"No Harry. No! Don't start again. We can't, it was just a moment of madness. Don't make more of it than it was."

Ruth dropped her eyes. She didn't want to see the hurt in him as she pushed him away; but it was for his own good, he would regret embarking on an involvement with her as soon as he had done it and then there would be an unbearable atmosphere between them, even worse than the unspoken frustration that had existed previously. Harry could sense her retreating into her shell and leaning down he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her gently, with love and a promise of desire.

"Look at me Ruth and tell me you don't love me, don't at least feel attracted to me."

Ruth stoked his hand and replied in a low faltering voice "Of course I love you Harry, you know that, but it's not the point."

"Of course it's the point. I love you Ruth. I want to hold you, to be close to you, to know that you feel the same way."  
Harry bent lower and drew her into a deeper kiss, the plump malleable lips  
exploring her mouth, demanding a reciprocal passion. She kissed him back; she allowed her hunger to reveal itself, her lips kneading with his. Harry's hand gravitated towards the soft, rounded breasts that swelled provocatively over the corseted shape of her dress. Ruth moaned with desire as she felt his hands squeezing their bulk and rubbing her erect nipple. He lifted her up onto the table under him and traced his hand up the contours of her leg and her inner thigh, whilst his other arm cradled her into a tight embrace. Half leaning across her body, Harry's kisses became more erotic and insistent as he rekindled the urgency of desire he had enjoyed earlier with her on the dance floor. His pulsating erection pressed against her leg and demanded entry into her body. Almost without realising what he was doing, Harry's fingers manoeuvred past the skimpy lace and silk and penetrated into her warm, wet interior. Ruth let out a low guttural moan of desire as her muscles contracted around his exploring fingers and her mouth was lost in the warmth and erotic promise of his dominating passion.

At that moment there was a measured knock on the door and Adam's amused voice on the other side declared "If you've quite finished chastising Ruth for her misdemeanours Harry there's a red flash call for you in your office."

Harry groaned and, regretfully pulling his fingers out of Ruth, straightened himself up and helped her to sit upright.

"We'll continue this in a more appropriate place later. I promise."

"Hurry up Harry, it must be urgent and um wash your hands."

Ruth blushed bright red at the implication of what she was saying.

Harry smiled back at her with hunger in his eyes.

"Absolutely not" he murmured, looking as though he was going to devour her on the spot, emergency or no emergency. Sighing deeply, he straightened his jacket and, kissing her once again with lingering passion, he moved across the room and went out.

Flinging open his office door, Harry strode over to his desk and yanked on the phone.

"Yes!" he barked in his most irritated tone "yes, yes, I understand, but calling COBRA is premature, the tip off hasn't been confirmed. Well the Chief of Staff will have to stop acting like a Dowager Queen with a fit of the vapours. Let's check it out first and then make a decision on COBRA. Call me if you have any more news."

Harry put the phone down and sat heavily in his chair.

"Oh Shag," he muttered to himself as he switched on his screen, typing in his code and bringing up a ground plan of Buckingham Palace. He speed-dialled on his phone.

"Hello Adam. There's been a tip off to Special Branch that a terrorist cell has infiltrated the Royal Household and plans to launch an attack on the Commonwealth delegates from inside. Yes, I know it's probably just scare mongering, but everyone's very jumpy at the moment and the Chief of Staff wants to call COBRA so we have to take it seriously. No, go home, we all need some sleep or no one will be able to think straight but stay contactable and come in for 7 am. Well thank you for your tact but no, you did not interrupt anything. Yes thank you for that Adam, I am aware of there being a blind spot in the corridor and no I have no intention of making use of it, goodnight!"

As Harry sighed again and pocketed his phone, the door to his office opened and he looked up with a welcoming smile at Ruth – except it wasn't Ruth, but the slender, slinky form of Catherine Palmerston who stepped in.

"Don't you have a bed to go to Harry?" she purred at him and draped herself in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Jesus wept Catherine. I don't have time to play games with you. Go home."

Unperturbed, Catherine smiled lazily at him and put her feet up on his desk with her legs slightly parted; not brazenly, but sufficiently to allow Harry a clear view of her naked and expertly waxed pubenda.

Harry blushed, in spite of his lengthy experience of professional seduction techniques.

"Hmm, you don't believe in keeping your talents hidden Catherine, but believe me I'm not interested, so stop replaying Basic Instinct and go home, I've got more important things to focus on."

"What, like Ruth? Too late I'm afraid Harry, I caught her fleeing down the corridor as I was coming up. Besides you don't know what you're missing." Catherine lent across the desk allowing him full view of her breasts as the material of her dress gaped forward and, reaching her hand down, stroked his still-hard erection. Bending down towards his head, she whispered with hot panting breath.

"You see Harry, you're not immune. I really, really fancy you. You're the most sexually charismatic man I've ever met. I can give you a night you'll always remember. Forget frightened bunny eyes and feel what a real woman can do for you."

Meanwhile Ruth had fled away from the Grid, her mind in turmoil. Her body ached with desire for Harry; she could still taste him on her tongue and feel his fingers inside her. His declaration of love made her want to shout with excitement but her rational mind argued that it was all a bubble that like Cinderella's coach would vanish as soon as the ball gown was taken off and the heady mix of music and champagne faded into the reality of the morning. It was better to stop things before they had more to regret in the cold light of day. Her emotional side came back with a counter-argument – but perhaps they were both building it up too much, maybe if they actually slept together it would dissipate the sexual tension and allow them both to get over it. Who was she kidding? That was like taking one shot of heroin to see whether it suited you. She loved him so intensely it frightened her – what would the opportunity to sleep with him do except make her even more infatuated and even more desperate?

The sight of Catherine Palmerston advancing towards the pods with Harry her obvious target did nothing to calm Ruth's state of mind. How many times would he have the strength to turn down such an insistent offer of gratification?

"She may as well have a label 'ready, willing and extremely able' attached to her half- bare bottom" thought Ruth with disgust. She was about to hail a taxi when the jealous little gremlin in her mind urged her to wait and see how long it was before Catherine Palmerston re-emerged from Thames House. She crossed the street and lurked in a nearby doorway.

"This is ridiculous and demeaning" she chastised herself, but nevertheless didn't move.

After ten minutes one of the black Lexus pulled out of the side of Thames House. There were two figures in the back of the car. Ruth felt her stomach lurch over and she choked. Tears welled up as anger, grief and regret fought for dominance. Well that was that. So much for true love and fidelity. Harry was just as susceptible as other men – the offer of a no-strings shag was not to be passed on. Catherine Palmerston had made it patently obvious she would drop her knickers (well metaphorically of course as it was pretty obvious she wasn't wearing any) and Harry had thought 'why not?'. At least Catherine wasn't going to get him worked up and then run off – she'd finish the job. Ruth wallowed in self-pity and self-loathing.

"You stupid idiot. You love him. Why did you just pass on the prospect of a night with the man you have loved from afar for three years?"

"Because you want to protect him and also avoid the fallout from a relationship that fails."

"Well as he told you before, he doesn't care what people gossip about him and obviously not if he's willing to be chalked up on Catherine Palmerston's tally of conquests."

Ruth felt exhausted and depressed. She walked miserably down the road and hailing a passing black cab climbed wearily into the back.

"I can't take this pain any longer" she thought to herself " as soon as this op is over I'm going to resign, leave the service and get as far away from Harry as it is possible to go." Even as she stiffened her resolve, Ruth acknowledged that however far she went and however deep she buried her feelings, Harry would always be in her heart; but at least the aching desire would not be fed by daily contact or tortured by the thought of the Catherine Palmerstons of this world catching his eye or stripping off in front of him. If only she could block out the image of Catherine screaming in ecstasy with Harry she would somehow hang on and survive the next few days. Ruth closed her eyes and lent her head against the side of the window, allowing it to bang against the glass as the cab raced through the empty streets.

* * *

_**So will the roller coaster relationship have a happy ending? What will be Catherine Palmerston's next move? Will there be any terrorist attack on the Commonwealth talks (silly question!)? Will Jo ever be up to speed with what's going on?**_

_**Do you want more or would you like to fill in the gaps with your own imagination? Review and let me know!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Ruth had half-expected, half-hoped, that Harry would be waiting for her when she arrived home, but the pathway was deserted and the house in darkness. Her piece of paper fluttered to the floor as she wearily pushed open the door and switched on the hall light. She glanced behind her in a final gesture of anticipation before all hope was extinguished and she had to come to terms with her heavy heart and disappointment. Why would he be waiting, begging her to touch him when he had Catherine Palmerston's trophy body in the offering? She believed he was fond of her, but also exasperated by her procrastination and anxieties. Time to forget about it – the intimacy on the dance floor, the heady fumblings in the office. It was just part of the Cinderella evening – a figment of what might have been, a delicious mirage that vanished on closer inspection. She was too old for fairy tales and obviously so was he.

6.30 am and Ruth was back on the Grid. She had tried to sleep for over an hour and found the process more exhausting than the alternative insomnia and so she had taken a lengthy bath, dressed in her habitual garb of flowing skirt and quirky blouse and headed back to work. Even so, she was not the first in Section D to arrive – a light was already burning in Harry's office when she stepped through the pod and judging by the paperwork strewn all over his desk, he had been there for some time – Catherine Palmerston was obviously a quick worker. This throwaway thought brought such a pang of anguish that she decided to turn her back on the glass partition and pretend she was alone at her station.

Harry noticed Ruth's arrival immediately her image showed up on the CCTV cameras positioned at the entrance to Thames House. He know after the events of the previous evening that she would revert to her usual coping mechanism: work all hours and pretend feelings are irrelevant. He had contemplated going directly to her house after he had dropped Catherine Palmerston off at her Canary Wharf penthouse, but had thought it unwise. If Ruth had run away from the prospect of sleeping with him then obviously she had thought better of it and it would not be right to go round and demand a resumption of their earlier intimacy. Yet disappointed and certainly frustrated as he felt after prolonged and erotic contact with the woman he desired and extensive exposure to the naked body of the irritating but nubile Catherine; nevertheless, he was still inclined to feel elated. Ruth had responded with equal passion to his advances and had declared that she loved him. He was not naïve enough to expect that this would necessarily lead to happy ever afters, but it was far more than he had extracted from her in their previous brief snatched conversations or the lone dinner-date. She was diffident and obdurate and determined not to expose him to ridicule or provide ammunition to his enemies, but still the bottom line was that she loved him. Ruth Evershed, who had illuminated his life since her arrival three years earlier and whom he had come to trust and value and adore, loved him. If this were a Rogers & Hammerstein musical, Harry Pearce would have burst into a life-affirming romantic song at that moment, but it was not and instead he smiled a slight smile to himself, sitting alone in his office and returned to the paperwork in front of him.

Ruth was in a far less phlegmatic frame of mind. Beset by a more intense emotional response to the events of the previous night based on anxiety and jealousy, her thoughts were more tormented and negative than Harry's. She felt betrayed and yet at the same time acknowledged that such thoughts were unjust – she was not in a relationship with Harry. She couldn't demand or expect his fidelity when they hadn't given any commitment and yet she felt let down by him. Harry, a mature, intelligent man succumbing to the vulgar charms of Catherine Palmerston who conducted herself no different to a high class hooker, she would have expected more of him – no that was just her being naïve. Harry had been sexually aroused last night as a result of intimate conduct that she had encouraged but then abandoned – availing himself of Catherine's offer was totally understandable – contemptible, but understandable. As one may imagine, these thoughts were not very conducive to calm, concentrated analysis and Ruth stared blankly at the screen in front of her, not taking in anything that she was reading nor was she aware of her surroundings to the extent that she started violently when Harry's soft voice murmured in her ear:

"Ignoring orders as usual I see Ruth. I thought I told you to get some rest?"

"Oh God. You startled me. No I um, I've got a mountain of paperwork to get through and also the agenda for today needs checking through before the others arrive. So you know, needs must."

Ruth's voice was faint and hurried as she sat with her eyes fixed on the screen. She desperately wanted him to move back to a safe distance out of her personal space and yet equally she greedily revelled in the tremblings of desire that his proximity engendered. The sound of his voice, the aroma of his body, the feel of his breath on her neck; all brought thoughts of the previous evening flooding back with renewed intensity. When he straightened up and walked back into his office she felt bereft, isolated, alone. It had been like this as long as she could remember. She needed him close to her to feel secure, to feel comforted, to feel whole and yet when he was close to her she was clumsy, agitated, more than usually inarticulate. Was this what love did to you – rendered you a stupefied, gibbering idiot?

"For to be wise and love  
Exceeds man's might"  
(Troilus & Cressida)

She felt worn down and worn out by the whole emotional roller coaster. She needed some calm in her life, some respite from the violence of these desires and anxieties. Ruth sighed deeply and picking up one of the folders on the desk tried to drive thoughts of Harry from her mind. Not an easy achievement when he was sitting in full view through the glass partition.

The pod doors clicked open and Adam walked through. He smiled broadly at her.

"Glad to see you and Harry are so dedicated that you both arrived early."

"If you're trying to insinuate that we spent the night together then you are mistaken Adam, you're barking up the wrong tree."

Adam frowned. He knew better than to question Ruth more closely, but if he found that Catherine Palmerston had claimed Harry as her latest conquest then he would definitely string her up from the nearest lamppost – but no, surely not Harry. He was far too wily a fox to be caught by Catherine; but at the same time Adam, who had been subjected to her charm offensive in the past, knew how persistent she could be once she had set her mind on something or someone.

"Ah Adam, I'm glad you're here. This tip-off is unfortunately looking more plausible by the minute. I'd like to have your thoughts before the others arrive."

Adam came into Harry's office and sat back on the couch with one leg crossed over his knee in a relaxed pose.

"You look tired Harry, did you manage to get any sleep?"

"Too little to be subjected to interrogation. Now shall we concentrate on the task in hand?"

The subtext of the previous exchange had of course been:

"Did you sleep with Catherine Palmerston?"

"No I did not and even if I did it's none of your bloody business."

The opinions and instincts of the two men blended and complemented as the conversation flowed back and forth across the desk. Harry: sharp, intuitive, but perhaps too hasty & inclined to jump to conclusions; Adam: spontaneous, a brilliant lateral thinker, but not always willing to accept the obvious or bend to the demands of political expediency. Together they made a formidable team that was cemented by genuine affection on both sides. Harry, half mentor/father figure, half friend – despite his assertion that agents didn't have friends as it compromised their decision-making and judgements in the field. Adam, respectful and admiring of Harry's strengths, but not willing to give him blind deference. Both knew that they would back each other to the hilt in any situation – mutual affection and loyalty was absolute but unspoken.

By 8 am sharp, all the members of the team had arrived and were assembled in the meeting room. Catherine Palmerston had smirked in a knowing manner at Ruth as she had strode past her desk:

"I hope you found your way home last night Ruth – you seemed a little distracted."  
Ruth didn't reply. She didn't trust herself not to reveal the extent of her feelings if she engaged in a verbal exchange with Catherine and so she just followed the narrow, feline back into the meeting room.

"Ruth, I want you next to me and bring those files that Special Branch couriered across. It's about time they started doing their bit for the rainforest and transferred everything electronically. I trust all of you managed some sleep last night, it's going to be a difficult day. Special Branch have identified several members of the Royal Household as having possible links with the Al Qaeda cell based in Peshwar."  
AT this point Ruth took up the narrative.

"Yes, I've started to cross check the Special Branch files with our and the Nexus records."

Jo knew that it would only mean further humiliation but she had to know:

"I'm sorry to convert to stereotypes and sound like the dumb blond, but what is Nexus?" Zaf jumped in to help as he saw Catherine open her mouth to speak.

"You're not dumb at all, you're not told about Nexus at induction training"  
Malcolm took up the explanation as Zaf paused, unable to resist the opportunity to give an informed brief:

"Nexus is a highly developed secret information network that enables the security services of the Nato allies to share files and embassy records. Obviously each country has to decide on how much they make available from their classified material but it is on an ad hoc quid pro quo basis with the understanding that it will aide the fight against terrorism – obviously the range of material and the frequency of use has risen greatly since 9/11, although it is always difficult to establish the hidden agendas of why certain information is shared ."

Harry interrupted him crossly. "Yes thank you for the mini-lecture Malcolm. Now shall we get back to the briefing the clock is ticking?"

Ruth continued hurriedly: "Yes well um, I only received the files an hour ago so I haven't been able to find any links yet, but Special Branch have named two men employed at Buckingham Palace in the last six months whom they believe have terrorist connections." Here Ruth clicked on her laptop and two faces appeared on the large meeting room screen. "Jamal Saeed and Mohammed Khan. Both of Pakistani origin. They've some tenuous connections with an extremist mosque in Acton but nothing particularly alarming at this stage."

"How could they have been cleared for work in the Royal Household?" Jo was obviously going for gold medal in the 'ask as many obvious questions as possible' competition and was rewarded with a supercilious smirk from Catherine Palmerston and an exasperated sigh from Harry which spurred Ruth on to reply.

"Because the links were not flagged during the initial vetting. Not all security services information appears on police files; besides which the Royal Household has made a point in recent years of hiring staff from the Muslim community and it's hard not to find someone qualified who has not visited some politically active mosque at some time in their life. These two certainly would not have given any particular cause for concern and in fact we still don't know if they are involved in anything it may just be Special Branch paranoia."

"Shouldn't we just lift them to be sure?" suggested Zaf.

"No" replied Adam "because if they're involved in something, we need to try and establish what it is and who else is implicated."

"Besides which" continued Harry "it would just cause another uproar about vicimisation which the Royal Household desperately does not want to be associated with and also if they are connected to a terrorist cell it would drive the others underground at the most dangerous time. No. For now we'll monitor them closely. Zaf, you're going to be their new best friend. You and Jo will be temporary agency staff sent in to help with tonight's function. Otherwise the security at Buckingham Palace for tonight's event will be as previously agreed with Special Branch but with additional officers on the perimeter and the SAS unit put on code red alert. Our first consideration however is the Westminster talks".

The meeting continued with the members of the team discussing the minutiae of agent allocation and inter-departmental liaison between MI5, Special Branch and the Met. Just as they were dispersing for their allocated tasks the pods opened and Juliet came through with the Kashmiri Foreign Minister. Harry walked forward to greet them.

"Ah Juliet. To what do we owe the honour of such an unexpected visit?"

"I thought I would give his Excellency the benefit of my company when I heard that he had been invited over to help out the gremlins of Section D."

Harry smiled a broad but pained reply to her salutation and held out his hand to the Kashmiri minister.

"You're Excellency, it was kind of you to spare us your time in such a crowded schedule. Please do come through and my staff will show you the faces we have on file and see if we can come up with any of common interest."

A smiling but nervous Ruth came forward and indicated to the minister to follow her; she just hoped fervently that he was not one of those who had witnessed her drunken antics the night before. Juliet turned to Harry.

"A word Harry."

"I'm sorry Juliet, this is not the best time. All my staff are stretched to the limit."

"Now Harry. It was not a request."

Harry scowled at Juliet and cursed for the umpteenth time the day he had felt coerced into approving her appointment. He indicated to her to go through into his office.

"Now then Juliet. What's so urgent it can't wait?"

"It has come to my attention that Ruth Evershed got drunk last night; made a complete fool of herself and jeopardised the operation."

"And you heard this from?"

"A reliable source."

"Ah, I see."

"Well Harry, what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry Harry, that's not good enough. We, including even you, have to be seen to be even-handed in our dealings with subordinates. Being drunk on duty is a serious offence. You will have to sack her."

"I will do no such thing Juliet. Ruth is one of my most valued officers; her skills of analysis are second to none and she is irreplaceable. I cannot afford to lose an officer of her calibre especially as she was carrying out my brief."

"Pardon!?"

"Ruth had been briefed to use the legend of Anna Benton, secretary in the Foreign Office. She was to mix freely and give the impression of being a good-time-girl with a loose tongue. As you know Juliet, people tend to drop their guard more when they think they are dealing with someone under the influence of drink or drugs."

"Ruth? a good-time-girl? For God's sake Harry! How stupid do you think I am? I was given a very different version of events. You made a pass at her. She couldn't handle it and got so drunk she couldn't stand up. What's got into you Harry? A mid-life crisis? As I recall you used to be able to handle these situations with greater discretion. I told you before if you love her then do something about it, but don't turn it into a pantomine played out in the middle of a Commonwealth conference."

Harry stared straight back at Juliet with an inscrutable expression. "What I do, or do not feel for Ruth is my private business and certainly is not your concern. We were acting out our respective legends last night, that is all. I suggest your source gets her facts right before she turns king's evidence next time."

Juliet shot Harry a 'we both know that was complete b but as I can't prove it and as I have a soft spot for you I'm not going to pursue it' look and concluded  
"Pull yourself together Harry or Ruth won't be the only one with her job on the line."  
Juliet swept out of the room and Harry sat on the edge of his desk rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. He wasn't going to distress Ruth with the details of what Juliet had threatened, but in a way Juliet was right. Things couldn't continue like this between them indefinitely and as for Catherine Palmerston! If there was one thing that Harry did not appreciate it was disloyalty. So he had turned down her offer of a one night stand? So what? It was certainly not a reason to go running with tales to Juliet. If he analysed the situation however Juliet had a valid point – his section was rapidly turning into Peyton Place and for once he was the cause of the emotional embroilments. Well that was going to have to stop. Self-control, self-denial. This is what happens when you don't stick to your own mantras. Mentally Harry pulled down the shutters on his emotions and walked out onto the Grid.

"Adam, a word please before you go."

Adam turned round and followed Harry into his officer.  
"I brought Catherine Palmerston into this operation because we were overstretched and I thought her particular, hmm, 'talents', would prove useful. So far, however, she has just been disruptive. She needs reacquainting with the principle of esprit de corps and I thought given your previous history at 6, that it would sound better coming from you."

"A slap on the wrist or a squeeze of the jugular?"

"Nothing too draconian at this stage Adam. She just needs to be reminded of why she's here. She needs to stop pursuing a personal agenda and focus on being a proactive member of the team."

"I'm sorry Harry but Catherine Palmerston doesn't willingly do the greatest good of the greatest number."

"Well fine, she has a choice – do as she's told or go back to 6. This is a high-risk, high-profile operation and none of us has time to keep tabs on her. If she wants to play mind games she can confine them to the Commonwealth delegates."

"Ok, I'll have a word with her later. We're both scheduled to cover the Westminster meeting."

"Good. I'm off to go over the security arrangements for the Buckingham Palace reception with the Home Secretary and then I'll come and join you at the meeting."

Harry went back out onto the Grid with Adam.

"Ruth. My office. Now."

Ruth, who had just seen off the Kashmiri Foreign Minister, was hunched over the screen at her desk scanning through CCTV footage from the Mansion House reception.

"Can't it wait Harry. I'm trying to identify the individuals that the minister pointed out."

"No."

Ruth sighed and rising from her chair scurried after the retreating bulk of Harry, who marched through into his office and sat down, leaving Ruth to close the door.

"Did the foreign minister have anything useful to contribute?"

"Well, I'll have a better idea when I've had the opportunity to study the CCTV footage and do a further cross-match with our records" replied Ruth tartly with a frown.

"Ok, let me know as soon as you have anything concrete, but that's not the reason I've called you in."

Ruth's heart sank. She felt too tired and too vulnerable to deal with any heart to hearts with Harry.

"I'm sorry Harry. I can't do this."

"Pardon?"

"I can't face emotional forensics today. What we did. What you and Catherine Palmerston did. None of it. Please leave me alone."

"Ruth" Harry's voice and face softened. "Nothing happened between Catherine Palmerston and I last night. I dropped her at her flat to make sure I'd got rid of her. I went home, showered and was back here by 5. But this is precisely why I wanted to talk to you."

Harry's voice became more 'Head of Section to subordinate' in tone. "This operation is complex and dangerous. Lives are at risk – both delegates and officers and we all need to stay focused. Personal feelings will have to stay on hold. Where you and I go from here, what we feel, we need to discuss these, but not here and not now. Do you understand?"

"Yes of course Harry. Now if you don't mind I'll try to stop emoting all over the office and focus on the task in hand – if you let me – and get back to Id-ing the suspects."

Ruth was happy and relieved to hear that Catherine Palmerston had not made Harry her latest trophy, but she was angered by the implication that she was unprofessional and not giving the operation her full attention.

"Fine. One more thing. If Juliet should mention it. You were acting under orders last night when you hit the triple Margheritas – as part of your legend."

"Why would she mention it Harry?" Ruth's tone was anxious and suspicious.  
"Er well, there were whisperings she picked up on."

"Catherine Palmerston I presume? – but you didn't need to defend me Harry and certainly not to the extent of lying to Juliet."

Harry's expression remained impassive as he replied, "I'm not giving you special treatment Ruth. I won't tolerate my authority over my department questioned or any member of my team compromised by disloyalty."

Ruth smiled back at him. "Yes I know Harry, but still…"

"Don't you have some mug shots to deal with?"

Inwardly Ruth longed to fling herself across the desk and grasp her knight-in-shining-armour in a prolonged and passionate kiss, but instead she nodded her agreement and stepped out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**The New Recruit**

**Chapter 5**

****

**_Whitehall: Home Secretary's Office_**

**__**

"How are things going Harry?"

"I think we have things reasonably under control, although of course the potential threat from the Special Branch suspects has not been fully assessed yet."

"No, I mean how are things with **you** Harry?"

Harry looked at the Minister with a quizzical expression. At first appearance he seemed a mild-mannered ineffectual man, but beneath the quiet exterior there was a vigorous intellect and a core of steel. Simple questions were never just that.

"I'm not quite sure I follow you Home Secretary?"

"It has come to my attention that you may be experiencing some personal difficulties during this op Harry. I wouldn't want to think that you were distracted at such a vital time."

"If you want reliable information about my state of mind Minister, I suggest you come to me in future. There is nothing in relation to myself or any member of my team that impinges on the task in hand. You've known me for longer than either of us would care to remember – would you say I was someone who allowed personal issues to cloud my judgement?"

"Certainly not Harry. I thought it sounded a little off key, but you appreciate it needed to be mentioned."

"Of course. Now if there is nothing further might I suggest we join the delegates. Talks are due to start in half an hour."

The two men walked along the wood-panelled corridors, their footsteps echoing in the tall decorated ceilings. Harry kept up a relaxed conversation with his old friend, but inwardly his mind was racing. So who had been whispering behind closed doors? Juliet? – always possible, but he sensed that she still carried a torch for him somewhere in the depths of her cold soul and she would only cause trouble if she would benefit directly and Harry couldn't think of what political or personal advantage she would have to gain by weakening his position at that moment in time.

A hidden enemy who had picked up something on the highly sensitive grapevine that linked the sister branches of the Service? – always possible, but wouldn't they use a more substantial pretext to launch a pre-emptive attack? Catherine Palmerston? – a very likely candidate. She had motive, opportunity and whilst Harry never liked to accept the obvious in any situation, this underhand devious manoeuvering had her stamp on it. Catherine had a reputation in 6 as an ambitious, well-connected and ruthless operator, who would exact revenge on anyone who thwarted her ambitions or spurned her advances ( not that there were many in the latter category.) Well, if it was Catherine behind this embarrassing encounter with the Home Secretary then she was going to have to be taught a lesson that would remind her where to focus her talents in future. For Harry did not want to destroy her career. Far from it. Catherine's sexual charisma and ruthless manipulative personality made her a perfect honey trap. There was no limit as to what she was prepared to do and no qualms of conscience or emotional vulnerability to compromise an operation. Catherine would never allow personal feelings to cloud her judgement or prevent her from destroying the careers and lives of individuals. No. Catherine was far too valuable an asset to be permanently wounded. Harry just intended to clip her wings a little and remind her literally of who was boss.

_**Whitehall : Meeting Room**_

**__**

Given the high risk of a terrorist threat the British Security Forces had insisted that the crisis talks should be conducted in the basement of Whitehall. This of course did not mean that the Commonwealth members were sitting on wooden crates in a damp cellar; only that the discreet elegance of the panelled room and magnificent mahogany refectory table was not enhanced by natural daylight. By 10 am the delegates were all seated around the table with the PM at the head and the Foreign Secretary and Home Secretary flanking him. Adam and Ros stood discreetly in one corner of the room and other members of Special Branch, MI6 and the Met were positioned at intervals along the perimeter of the meeting. Ros muttered to Adam

"It's not only the talks that are multi-national. I doubt this happy-clappy liaison of the different forces will hold up if there's a crisis."

Adam nodded his agreement at her concern.

"I share your anxiety but given the scale of this operation and the seniority of those at stake – International Heads of State and foreign ministers, our own Government ministers and the Royal Family; it had to involve all sectors and be conducted as a multi-departmental operation."

"Well, as long as we don't end up with too many head chefs in the kitchen."

"If that happens I'm sure Harry will do a Gordon Ramsey and throw the rest of them out."

The image of Harry in chef's regalia swearing at the rest of the JIC and Heads of the Armed Forces not to mention MI6 & SB Section Heads was enough to make Adam's mouth twitch with concealed amusement.

The talks were protracted and largely unfruitful. The Australian and British authorities did their best to promote accord and to press for fresh initiatives on Third World Debt, carbon omissions and controls to limit the free passage of funds that funded terrorist groups worldwide, but old rivalries and conflicts of interest both political and economic, hampered them at every turn. Debate went round in ever-decreasing and unproductive circles and tempers shortened as frustrations rose. They broke for lunch which was served in an adjacent dining area the size of a small football pitch. The delegates returned refreshed but it did not take many minutes before tempers were again frayed and the Pakistani delegation were threatening a walkout. The Home Secretary wrote a message on his pad, which he pushed over to the PM who addressed the assembled members:

"Things seem to be getting a little heated, which is in no one's interest. I suggest me adjourn for an hour and then convene the six discussion groups that were previously agreed to see if better headway can be achieved on that basis. We'll meet again here at 10 am tomorrow morning. Hopefully by then we will see more light at the end of the tunnel. I wish you all well with our joint endeavours. These are crisis meetings that demand solutions. The world needs our co-operation and the world is watching our every move. Please do not disappoint them. Push through the barrier of negativity and let's embrace a better future together."

"'_Choked with ambition of the meaner sort'(Henry VI), _that man has been spending more time with our American cousins than is good for him" muttered Harry to Juliet as they waited by the monitor in Juliet's office "the psycho-babble is worse than the little Texan's."

"Well the Americans are of course the uninvited guests at the feast along with the Chinese. I really don't think that these Commonwealth talks are as important as they all like to think."

"Well they're certainly taking themselves seriously enough and tying up the entire Security Service of this country in the process. Was it really necessary to stage the talks in London – didn't our perma-tanned PM fancy a freebie vacation somewhere warmer?"

"Well they could hardly have held crisis talks in Angola or Bangladesh now could they Harry?"

"Why not? They wouldn't have been any less effectual, nothing is likely to come of the discussions anyway other than more hot air and God knows our mob can produce more than enough of their own supply of that. All it will have achieved is to have got every terrorist crackpot from Pimlico to Plymouth salivating in excitement at such a tempting target. I've better things to do with my time than to be sidetracked by this circus."

"Well the circus as you call it is also part of your remit Harry, so don't forget it. Now is everything in place for tonight?"

"Yes, of course. There's nothing I relish more than black-tie smoozing with the great and the good of tin pot republics."

Juliet frowned up at him from her chair:

"Sometimes I wonder whether you are going to progress beyond Section Head, Harry. Your belligerent attitude to the political dimension of the job is shall we say subversive?"

"I prefer 'sceptical', but I don't pretend to like or understand politicians. Section Head will do just fine for my gravestone Juliet. Although I have to say a funeral pyre by the banks of the Thames always seemed more appealing than a permanent monument."

"Don't be morbid Harry. Wait a minute, it looks like a fist fight's broken out between the Indian and Pakistani foreign ministers. Really this is too much, it's like being on dinner duty in the play ground." Juliet manoeuvred out of her office whilst Harry watched the antics on the screen with a wry smile on his face as he murmured softly to himself:

"_O judgement! Thou art fled to brutish beasts_

_And men have lost their reason." (J.Caesar III)_

_**Buckingham Palace**_

After the fiasco of the Mansion House event Ruth did her utmost to wriggle out of the Buckingham Palace Reception but Harry was obdurate.

"I'm not needed Harry, I'd be more useful on the Grid with Malcolm and anyway I've only got that one dress, I can't keep turning up in it."

"I'm sorry this is non-negotiable Ruth, I need you there. Anyway in spite of the opinion of some of our cohort, this is not a fashion parade. Wear the same dress again, it looked fine – more than fine and it's certainly suitable for the reception. Just put some different shoes or something with it."

"Oh God, MEN!" thought Ruth "they've absolutely no idea." The fact that she wasn't an obsessed clotheshorse like Catherine Palmerston didn't mean she wanted to turn out to the two most exclusive events she had ever or perhaps would ever attend in an identikit outfit. She supposed she could call on a favour from her friend Clare. They had been at Oxford together but had chosen very different career paths and whilst Ruth buried herself at Cheltenham, Clare had joined a major Paris fashion house and had been living the high life on the International Fashion circuit. Their respective busy schedules meant that they only met up a couple of times a year; but when they did, they immediately fell into the old familiarities from when they shared digs at the seedier end of Jericho and peddled their bikes together over Magdalen Bridge. Ruth knew Clare was in London for a meeting with suppliers and a short phone call was quickly followed by a reunion with an excited Clare. Ruth had always been the one to help her out when they were students together, explaining the more esoteric utterances of their vain and obtuse Ancient Greek tutor and helping her with overdue assignments; now it would be her turn to use her expertise to help out her friend.

Clare took Ruth into the atelier of a well-known British designer who had made his name on the Parisian catwalk, but who still kept up his base in London. Ruth blanched when she caught a glimpse of one of the price tags on the shimmering exquisite pieces that were draped over silk hangers.

"I can't possibly borrow one of these Clare, they're worth a King's ransom – what if it gets damaged?"

"Don't worry, John owes me far more than on outfit for the favours I've done him. Now relax and concentrate on what you would like to try on. We will have to leave the catwalk outfits because they are all for 6', size OO models, but these over here will be perfect."

Ruth looked helplessly at the rows and rows of heavily beaded and embroidered dresses that lined the walls.

"I'm dazed Clare, I don't know where to begin."

"Well in that case I'll make a few suggestions. Normally I would recommend red for your colouring but we want to get away from that don't we?"

"Oh yes, otherwise there's no point in this – I could have stuck to old faithful."

"Well we either plum for something neutral and delicate like ivory and silver.." Here Clare reached out and brought down a gossamer creation of palest ivory silk encrusted with seed pearls.

"Absolutely beautiful Clare, but perhaps a little too much like a wedding dress?"

"Well perhaps it would be an appropriate hint for Mr Boss with the X Factor?"

Ruth blushed scarlet. "Clare, for goodness sake, we've only been on one date and that was pretty awkward. I'd just die of shame if he thought I was trying to make suggestions."

"Alright then well how about something bold and eye catching, say a Pucci print?"

"Ur no, nothing too bright please Clare, I'm meant to be blending in."

Clare sighed, she was determined to make Ruth look fabulous especially as she had a good inkling that her old friend was completely smitten with this mysterious older man, but it was going to be an uphill struggle. Ruth didn't have the confidence to dress in the ostentatious manner that her beauty demanded. She wanted refinement and elegance, not look-at-me stunning. Well Clare was adamant that on this occasion Ruth was going to have the wow factor whether she liked it or not.

Suddenly she spied a dress that would satisfy both Ruth's desire to be discreet and her desire to show off her friend to best effect. It was a gown of chiffon and silk in exactly the same shade of pale grey/blue as Ruth's eyes. It was cut on the bias reminiscent in style of the Balenciaga and Dior gowns of the 1950's but with a modern corseted outline recalling Versace at his best. When Ruth tried on the dress it fitted her like a glove, the expertly cut folds defining and enhancing her contours.

"Isn't it a bit tight?" Ruth asked anxiously as she saw the delicate material pulled taut over her bust and hips, although one look in the full-length mirror told her that this was definitely the dress she was born to wear. Not only did the colour reflect, enhance and complement her eyes, but its hue was flattering to her skin tone and the hidden corsetry and bias cut gave her an Marilyn Monroe hourglass figure.

"No, it's perfect," said Clare firmly. "Now for shoes to give you some height and a bit of glitz." She selected a fine-heeled backless pair of silver Jimmy Choo's, encrusted in pale blue beading.

"Clare! Please remember I'm on duty, I'm meant to be able to run if the occasion arises."

"In that case they're perfect – with no straps they're quick release – kick them off and hey presto you're ready to kick ass."

Clare continued to deck Ruth out with a fabulous necklace and earring set of large aquamarine stones surrounded by diamonds that she extracted from the safe.

"They belonged to the Duchess of Windsor but don't let that put you off, they're perfect with the dress."

Ruth's eyes widened in horror "For goodness sake Clare I can't go out in these I'll need a bodyguard."

Clare smirked back at her "I thought you were a bodyguard. Anyway they are fully insured, they're used for catwalk shows so they have to be, so just enjoy. Oh yes and I've arranged for a little woman to come and do your hair and makeup who is an absolutely gem – she does all of John's shows for him.

Ruth giggled hysterically: "who do you think I am Helen Mirren?"

"No, more Kate Winslet with that figure!"

So it was that at 8 pm Ruth arrived by taxi at the side entrance of Buckingham Palace and picked her way very carefully on her fragile heels into the main reception hall where the delegates were asked to assemble before being announced in the magnificent reception room. It was not surprising that her colleagues at 5 did not recognise her when the bewigged footman announced the name of Sarah Benton, as she had not recognised the ice maiden who had stared back at her from the mirror when Clare's fairy godmother had finished preparing Cinderella for the ball. The makeup was dramatic, the smudged shades of kohl, blue and silver accentuated her huge luminous eyes that now seemed to fill the frame of her face but which were balanced by the full pale shimmering lips in palest silver with a hint of coral. Her hair had been swept up in an elaborate style and decorated with silver and aqua combs covered in silver and blue feathers and pearls and both her hair and her face and shoulders were dusted with fine silver glitter that shimmered in the blaze of light from the huge chandeliers. Ruth had been secretly thrilled with the result but also anxious that Harry would not approve of her lavishing so much attention on her appearance when she was meant to be focusing on the operation and part of her felt that she did not warrant such jewels and finery – Clare had been very kind but had really gone over the top in her efforts to give Ruth the mother of all make-overs and she was worried that Harry would think her flippant – on the plus side if he didn't approve at least he would not be so keen to insist that she attend future public functions!

She need not have worried. Of all the assembled glitterati and miscellaneous security staff packed into the huge reception room, it was Harry whose eyes first fell on her and he held his breath in admiration. The red outfit had aroused erotic desire, but with this pale blue creation it was his aesthetic sensibilities that were stimulated – she looked stunning and exquisitely beautiful – like a Victorian illustration of mermaids or fairy bowers with magical delicate creatures in diaphanous clothes bathed in a blue haze.

"_Ill met by moonlight proud Titania"_ Harry's voice murmured in her ear as he appeared next to her.

"Does that mean I'm going to fall for a man with a face like a donkey? Oh good."

"I could take offence at that Ruth" replied Harry with an amused chuckle, "incidentally you look beautiful. Have I seen that necklace before?"

"Only if you're older that you appear. It belonged to the duchess of Windsor. It's on loan."

"Well so I gathered," said Harry dryly with a raised eyebrow " brave of you to wear it at this venue."

Ruth's eyes filled with panic "Oh God I didn't think of that – do you think anyone from the Royal Household will recognise the jewels."

"Well quite likely, but she was rehabilitated towards the end, so I don't suppose it's a beheading offence any more."

"That's a relief, it would spoil the outfit – separating the headdress from the gown." Ruth glanced flirtatiously at Harry under her eyelashes and suddenly all thoughts of ethereal beauty were replaced by more carnal urges.

"A dance later perhaps?" he suggested, his voice sensual and seductive.

"Absolutely not! I intend to avoid both alcohol and dancing this evening" she replied emphatically.

"Ah, the ice maiden replaces the scarlet woman – how disappointing. Still I'm used to you blowing hot and cold – I'll try later."

Ruth watched the retreating broad shoulders with regret, but she was firmly resolved that this time she was going to carry out her brief with professionalism and focus. Armed with a glass of Perrier, she advanced gracefully and mingled with the delegates. In her peripheral vision she was aware of Catherine Palmerston, dressed head to toe in a tight black gown with her signatory plunging back and neckline, although in deference to the occasion, it was fractionally more restrained than the gold outfit flaunted at the Mansion House event. A matching Bulgari choker and bracelet put all but the Royals in the shade for the size and value of their glittering diamonds.

"Typical Catherine – grooming and breeding let down by a taste for the vulgar. That outfit would have looked so much better with Asprey diamonds."

Ruth arched her eyebrows at Juliet who rarely spoke to her.

"I'm afraid I'm not an expert on jewels."

"Well what's around your neck seems to counter that claim. Weren't those jewels part of the latest Windsor sale at Zurich?"

"I really don't know they're on loan from a friend."

"Well a pretty good friend Ruth, they must be worth at least 10 million."

Even with the dramatic pale makeup applied to her face Ruth appeared to blanch further.

Catherine Palmerston paused on her way to an inviting collection of eligible males who were sitting laughing and joking in a cluster of resplendent Louis V chairs.

"You look delightful this evening Ruth. I so envy your ability to carry that colour I always think it makes one look washed out."

Ruth smiled thinly back at her "Well fortunately Catherine I have no desire to stand out from the crowd."

Attacked on two fronts by Juliet and Catherine – perhaps she should have insisted on staying behind on the Grid with Malcolm – but this was a fascinating occasion and also a furtive glance over at Harry reassured her that she would far rather be here with his reassuring presence, albeit at a distance, than keeping a lonely vigil at her desk.

Ruth continued to move amongst the guests, smiling and socialising, but with her eyes constantly skimming the room for signs of unusual activity or danger. After about half an hour she was disturbed to come face to face with the Indian delegate whom she had accosted the previous evening. He greeted her with easy familiarity with no reference to her former inebriated state and in gratitude for his consideration she lingered and chatted openly with him. After an appropriate interval Ruth made her excuses and headed for the Ladies. When she remerged the Indian delegate was waiting in the shadows and coming up silently behind her he grasped her body and roughly squeezed her right breast.

"Get off me now" she hissed angrily.

"Oh no. You western women are all the same, flirting one moment and distant the next; well you'll give me what I want or you'll regret it."

At that moment the small sharp blade of a ceremonial knife was laid across Ruth's throat, as the man's hand gripped her forehead and dragged her head back. Shaking with anger and shock Ruth replied:

"What the hell do you think you are doing attacking someone in the middle of a Buckingham Palace Reception? There must be policemen everywhere. Leave me alone."

"Shut up and do as I say or I'll cut you."

From behind them came the ice-cold command:

"Let her go immediately."

The delegate swivelled round with the knife still held at Ruth's throat to meet the formidable stare of Ros's blue eyes.

"And you're going to make me?"

"If you do not release her Mr Sharma, your superiors will be informed of your behaviour, your flat at Curzon Court will be confiscated and you will be put on the next flight back to Delhi to explain your actions. Oh yes and I will personally deprive you of the means to sexually harass other innocent women now or in the future."

Rasheed Sharma dropped his grip on Ruth as if he had been stung and giving Ros a filthy look pushed past her and returned to the main reception area.

"Thanks Ros, I don't seem to have much luck when I go on active operations. I think I should have stayed at Thames House."

Ruth felt her knees trembling and she sat down hard on a bench positioned along the wall.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes fine. Just the shock I guess. I'll be ok. You can go back. Thanks Ros."

Ros glanced back at Ruth to check she was composed enough to leave and moved back to her monitoring position.

A minute later Adam located Harry in the centre of a group of distinguished statesmen and discreetly bent down and whispered in his ear. A look of alarm flashed momentarily across Harry's face before his features returned to their normal impassive guarded expression.

"Is she alright Adam?"

"Yes fine, she wasn't cut. Ros says she's just a little shaken. Ros put the fear of God into Sharma, I think he'll give Ruth a wide berth for the rest of the evening."

Harry excused himself from the discussion group and melted into the crowd materialising moments later in front of Ruth.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes fine Harry. What are you doing here? Please don't fuss, nothing happened. Just a misunderstanding arising out of cultural differences, Ros took care of it."

Harry ignored the brush-off and sat down next to her. He could feel her body trembling with shock and he reached out, took her hand and laying it on his knee stroked it gently.

"What you need is sweet tea, but as it's unlikely to be found here you'll have to settle for brandy."

"No. No Harry no alcohol please not after last night. I'm fine honestly."

"I'm worried about you Ruth, you look distressed."

Harry, gazing into her moist bewitching eyes, brought her hand up and planted soft yielding kisses on it.

Adam, who had also come to check on Ruth, stood spellbound in the archway that led through to the recessed area where they were sitting. Revealed before him was the passionate gentle man who existed behind the self-erected barricade of authority and self control. A voice at his elbow interrupted his thoughts:

"Well I hope he doesn't do that to me the next time I'm threatened with a knife and oh by the way you owe me 20 quid."

Adam smiled at Zaf as he took a canapé from the tray.

"One swallow does not a summer make. This is just a gesture of sympathy not evidence of a relationship. You're not getting any money out of me now keep circulating with that tray and keep your mind focused."

"Huh, tell that to Harry," retorted Zaf with a cheeky grin and sauntered off.

Harry aware of his operatives' whisperings had dropped Ruth's hand from his lips and with a final reassuring squeeze, stood up and strode over to Adam.

"Keep an eye on her Adam, she's not used to the rough and tumble of active ops. Any word on the two Special Branch suspects?

"Well yes and no. Zaf has made contact with them but he hasn't found anything to suggest they are about to launch an attack. Not the most staunch Royalists in the country, but no sign of any hard line terrorist sympathies either."

"Good. Well tell him to keep up the friendship, we're not out of woods yet."

Meanwhile Ruth, determined not to make herself the centre of attention more than she had already, rose up and steadying herself on the narrow stiletto heels, walked hesitantly out into the throng.

Back on the Grid, Malcolm was anxiously reading through a fax that had come through from Interpol and after a few moments hesitation he picked up the phone.

"Hello Harry. Yes we've received a disturbing fax from Interpol, which I think could be relevant to the security for the present conference. There has been a positive ID on a man of middle-eastern appearance who was spotted at the Gare de Nord on Tuesday. Yes, I know they'res isn't the most efficient system. Well, anyway, they are certain it is Khalid al Jafar, yes, well as positive as they can be. They've sent me the CCTV images and he is also ID-ed as Jafar on our system as well. Yes I know it's not good news, that's why I'm ringing you. OK yes I will. I'll see you later."

Harry speed-dialled Adam with a grim expression on his face:

"Adam, we may have a serious situation. Khalid al Jafar was spotted at the Gare de Nord on Tuesday, boarding a train for London. How the hell he got through at Waterloo without being spotted God knows, perhaps he jumped off before, maybe the plods were asleep. Anyway the point is that he has been in the UK for three days, doing God knows what with God knows who; but we've got to come up with some answers fast. Double-check all permanent and temporary staff for tonight's reception. We're sitting ducks here, we need to close this reception as soon as possible, evacuate the Royal Family to the secure bunker and disperse the delegates."

"Isn't that a bit drastic Harry it'll cause a huge kafuffle? We're not even sure Jafar is in the country and even if he is, tonight's reception may not be his intended target."

"I know Adam, but we can't take that risk. Jafar's speciality is missile attacks. He was involved in the blasts in Kenya and is thought to have been the brains behind the Bali and Istanbul attacks. Al Qaeda's number two in Europe, he's just too serious a threat not to assume the worst. We'll go for heating failure, that should drive them back to their hotel suites in record time."

"What about a power cut, that would be more immediate?"

"No, that might cause mass panic – most are jittery enough as it is about the threat of terrorist attack. We don't want a stampede on our hands. No. Given the outside temperature it won't take long for them to be calling for the limos. Meanwhile, alert the Special unit that the threat of an attack is real and red call the Section to come to Thames House immediately the Palace is cleared of delegates and that includes Zaf and Jo. Our priorities are changed, we don't have time to fuss about vague Special Branch tip offs."

Five minutes later, as a chill began to creep into the main reception room, an apologetic Head of the Royal Household made the announcement to the assembled dignitaries that there had been a catastrophic failure of the heating system in the formal reception rooms that could not be immediately repaired. He apologised profusely and suggested that those who wished to continue socialising were welcome to move through to another room at the other end of the Palace and those who wished to leave could notify the footmen and their limos would be brought around. Most of the younger members chose to carry on the party and helped to transport cases of champagne and trays of canapés down the long, echoing corridors; whilst their older colleagues by and large decided to call it a night and waited for their transport to arrive. By 11 pm, when the main speeches were scheduled to begin, all but a handful of staff and delegates had either departed or decamped to the West Wing of the Palace and Harry's team were helping the bomb disposal unit to recheck the rooms for hidden detonators and explosives.

Suddenly, without warning, there was an almighty explosion that rocked the whole building and brought the ceiling crashing down in the main reception room, followed in quick succession by two further rocket attacks that caused structural damage to the upper and lower floors and left the corridors filled with smoke and dust. Adam, who had been checking the kitchens dashed back towards the main reception room, his ears ringing from the blast. A massive gap, about 15 foot wide, had been blown in one wall and there was smoke and rubble everywhere. The sprinkler system had been activated and where there was still a ceiling, water rained down on priceless antiques and fragments of charred Persian carpet. There were body parts strewn over the floor and mangled in obscene, unidentified lumps with twisted metal and smoking fragments of wood. An acrid smell of explosive and burnt flesh hung over the remains of the room. Adam was both horrified by the scene of devastation in front of him and relieved that an even worse disaster had been averted by Harry's quick thinking. Thoughts of Harry snapped Adam's mind back into action and he spoke urgently into his earpiece:

"Harry? Zaf, Jo, Ros, Ruth, report your status please."

The first to respond was a quavering Jo

"h.. hello Adam, I'm fine. What's happened? I was knocked to the floor but I'm ok. Zaf's with me, he's got a cut to the head but he's ok as well. We were checking the storerooms, I guess the main blast was in the main reception room."

"Yes, both of you get over here now."

Adam brought out his phone:

"hello, this is Adam Carter, Section D. Organise the evacuation of the remaining delegates at once via route C. Fine. I presume the Royal Family members were all in the bunker? Good. Keep them there. We have no means of knowing if there are more explosives or if further rocket attacks will be launched. I'll co-ordinate Special Forces to sweep the area. No, I have no exact knowledge of damage or casualties, but at a guess I would estimate a dozen or so bodies in the main reception room. I want a lock-down on news of this; until we get all delegates clear of the building and assess the damage and casualties, I don't want the press swarming like vultures round here."

Adam spoke into his earpiece again:

"Hello Ros. Good, you and Catherine oversee the evacuation, I don't want any inside contacts sneaking out with the delegates and all the staff have to be accounted for according to the normal evacuation procedures. Have you seen Harry? I can't raise him. What?! Here? But I thought he was seeing off the Australian PM. Shit. Ok, no, I'm sure he's fine. I'll let you know when I've located him."

The next minute, a shoeless Ruth came running down the corridor towards him with fear and panic in her eyes:

"where's Harry, Adam?"

She clung to him, her fingernails digging into his arms through the material of his evening suit.

"I don't know, but I don't think, no I'm sure, he wasn't in the main reception room – I was there only a couple of minutes before the explosion but Ros says he was on his way back here, so I'm going to check the corridors."

Tears filled Ruth's eyes as they stared in blank horror at the implications of what Adam had not said: he only thought Harry wasn't in the main reception room that had been ripped apart and which she could see from her vantage point was a smouldering husk of it's former splendour. No one who was inside at the moment of explosion would have stood even the remotest chance of survival. She felt she was going to vomit. Blood pounded in her head and she fought to think coherently

"I'm coming with you."

Adam was going to protest but the imploring look in her eyes silenced him."

"Alright, but only where it's structurally sound." They started to pick their way round the shattered walls of the reception room towards the doorway that still remained in tact in the far corner when a broad figure appeared behind them covered in dust with a torn jacket.

"What are you two doing precisely?"

Ruth blinked back tears of relief

"Er, looking for you Harry."

"Well, I.m very grateful , but as you can see I'm still standing and this is not a scene from an American buddy movie – we have a job to do. Adam, supervise the staff check. Ruth, get back to Thames House and help Malcolm dig up as much data as possible on Khalid al Jamar and any cells he might be connected with that are on our radar. This was a well-planned attack with insider information on where and when the reception would be held. Someone must know something. We have to find this group. When they discover the delegates escaped they'll try again and with the weaponry and know-how at their disposal, next time we won't escape with so few body bags. The Home Secretary has already called an immediate COBRA meeting at the Cabinet Office. I'll come back to Thames House as soon as I can."

Ruth felt ashamed that in the midst of the death and devastation, all she could feel

was relief and joy that Harry was safe. Those long horror-filled minutes of blind panic running through the corridors of Buckingham Palace after she had detected the anxiety in Adam's voice, only reinforced her acknowledgement of just how absolutely and profoundly she loved him. Just as those poor people stranded at the top of the Twin Towers, had discovered that the acknowledgment and declaration of love is all that matters; so despite Adam's presence, despite the urgency in Harry's voice, Ruth cupped his face in her hands and kissed him with tenderness and passion.

"I ………."

"Yes, I know Ruth, I know."

For a brief moment Harry paused and savoured the sweetness and promise contained in that kiss before he returned to the reality of the crisis and disappeared through the jagged outline of what had been a solid wall.

"If you two don't end up together, then I will lose all faith in human relationships."

Ruth smiled briefly up at Adam

"I love him Adam, but I've been around long enough not to believe in fairy tales. You of all people know there's no such thing as happy ever afters."

A shadow passed over Adam's handsome chiselled features

"Yes, but you've got to keep believing in something good Ruth, in the midst of such hatred and destruction. If you lose that capacity in this job, you're finished."

Glancing down, Adam noticed Ruth's bare feet

"You're not exactly dressed for forensics Ruth. Come on, let's get back to Thames House, there's nothing more we can do here for these poor devils except track down the bastards who did it."

Without warning he put his arms around Ruth's waist and under her legs and lifting her effortlessly off the ground, he picked his way through the debris and across the devastated hall where the glamorous and the powerful had gathered only a few hours before. Adam thought ruefully if they would ever know who had saved them.

We all wonder whether we can make a difference, well Harry had certainly done that - without his quick-thinking most of those delegates in their finery and jewels would now be minced together in that reception area instead of the handful of poor unfortunate staff and security personnel who had been clearing the rooms. He forced down his emotions as his brush with death not only brought back the experience of Fiona's shooting, but also reminded him how much he cared for Harry and how relieved he was that the old fox had once again managed to cheat the grim reaper. He renewed his firm grip on Ruth's slender frame and pushed his way though the heavy wooden doors and into the chill night air.


	6. Chapter 6

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 6**_

**_The Grid_**

The COBRA meeting had been fraught and intense. A pale and rattled PM was determined to apportion blame for the security failure and Harry, along with the Heads of Special Branch and MI6 had received a bollocking. To his credit, the Home Secretary had spoken up in Harry's defence and pointed out that in all probability none of them would be there debating a lapse of security if it had not been for Harry Pearce; but the vision of being vaporised in Buckingham Palace did little to calm the frayed nerves of the PM and Harry returned to Thames House two hours later, stressed and irritated. The exasperated expression on his face as he marched into the meeting room where they were assembled suggested it was not going to be the easiest of briefings.

"Right, The PM would like us to dismantle the global Al Qaeda network, achieve World Peace and discover a cure for cancer in the next 24 hours – so I suggest we make a start! Where's Ruth?"

"Er, she's still working on the analysis of possible cells, I'll fetch her," mumbled Malcolm who dreaded Harry in combative mood. Harry was not so incensed by the PM's remarks however, to have lost all vestige of his humour and it was with a ghost of a smile that he greeted Ruth's appearance with:

"Ah, the Ice Maiden Cometh."

Malcolm smirked his appreciation at this facetious reference to the implied title of Eugene O'Neill's play in which the main action focuses on a set of individuals down on their luck who congregate in a bar run by the character Harry Hope.

"No **hope** of a drink I suppose Harry and by the way I hope you're not implying that I'm a woman of the night?" replied Ruth with a sardonic arch of her eyebrow whilst those of the group who were not so well versed in modern American drama looked baffled by the exchange.

"Ah. Loves not so young dream" commented Catherine, sufficiently sotto voce that it escaped Harry's hearing; but Adam was within earshot and rewarded her sarcasm by stepping on her foot as he sat down.

"Ouch, clumsy oaf!"

He smiled and whispered in her ear

"Sorry Catherine, it should have been you're tongue, not your foot."

Catherine glared back at him: "Aren't you a bit old for hero worship Adam?"

Adam threw her a withering glance and turned away. He wasn't about to deny what was fundamentally true. He didn't worship Harry, but his boss was a man that he respected more than any other he had met in their profession and the kindness and thoughtfulness Harry had shown to himself and Wes meant that the older man would always occupy a special place in his affections and certainly his absolute if not unquestioning loyalty.

Ruth's mind was racing along parallel tracks. One part was focused on the crisis and the rapid dissemination of detailed and complex data but the other kept bringing up flash-backs of the explosion – the fear and panic and above all the kiss and unspoken declaration she had given Harry – unsolicited and most likely unwelcome. How frivolous she must have looked to the two men – standing in the shattered remains of the reception room surrounded by dead bodies and all she could do was fling herself on Harry like an hysterical schoolgirl. What would Adam and more particularly Harry think of her once they had time to reflect on her actions? She knew that people often responded to the extreme fear, stress and loss of being caught up in a terrorist attack by seeking physical contact. Studies of the aftermath of 7/11 showed that acts of sexual congress between complete strangers in the hours and days following the explosions were very common, both as a life-affirming act in defiance of such hatred and negativity and also as a response to a natural need to comfort and be comforted; but they were professionals, used to dealing with terrorist acts, so what excuse had she got to 'lose it' in that way? The answer of course was that she had been involved in the scenario directly and had responded instinctively without thought. Previously when she had thought Harry had been shot dead by Tom and then by Angela or executed by Michael Cunningham, she had been at a distance and had had time to compose herself and hide her relief by the time she came face to face with him, but this had been different.

"Ruth. RUTH!!

Ruth started as Harry's voice jerked her back from her inner turmoil to the immediate task of briefing the meeting. Her beautiful face looked sad and stressed and Harry desperately wanted to take her in his arms and whisper that he loved her and that everything would be all right; but of course he couldn't and the situation at that moment was out of control and threatening an Armageddon that he had no certainty could be averted, he had to remain absolutely focused in the next few hours despite his personal feelings and the chronic lack of sleep.

"Yes, er, Khalid al Jafar, Saudi citizen, a close associate of Osama Bin Laden, he was at university with him and joined him in exile in Afghanistan in 1996. He helped train Mudjahadin fighters for four years and then disappeared, although it's thought he had moved on to set up an Al Qaeda cell in S E Asia. Certainly he was involved in the first Bali bombing and also the explosions in Kenya. The CIA claims he is now based in Europe acting as the No 2 to Mohammed bin Nasser. His speciality is surface to air missiles and portable rockets. Whether he has brought in his own cell or more likely has activated a sleeper cell in the UK, his presence on UK soil indicates that this was an Al Qaeda directed attack and that they have the capacity and intent to strike again. It's very difficult obviously to identify a sleeper cell – by it's very definition it's off our radar, but I've entered all the recent activity of known sympathisers, the SB suspects, the individuals identified by the Kashmiri Minister and recent arrivals recorded on CCTV at the major airports and ports and these

cross-links have been thrown up."

Ruth clicked on the computer mouse and a succession of faces appeared on the screen: some stills from grainy CCTV images, others surveillance shots made with long-range lenses.

"Firstly I think we can discount the SB suspects – I can find no evidence linking them to any extremist activity or to Al Qaeda."

"Now why does that not surprise me?" said Harry with an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, well um. The three men identified by the Kashmiri foreign Minister are more interesting. They ostensibly work for the Indian Consulate but none of them are actually Indian – two are of Pakistani origin and one is Iraqi."

Adam interrupted "That's not possible, the Indian embassy would never sanction such a breach of security."

"Ah but they didn't know – the men had top grade forged papers – the best, and elaborate confirmable legends."

"Security services, CIA, Mossad?"

"No, more worrying. I found out that acting on a CIA tip-off, MI6 has been monitoring Al Jafar's group over the last 18 months – they believe they have been training agents in the techniques and methods of espionage of the western security forces."

"To fight fire with fire."

"Exactly."

"And MI6 know about this? So why were we not informed?"

"Well perhaps you're in a position to find that out more than me Harry, but it was a surveillance operation focused in North Africa and Spain. I don't think they envisaged the group would move into the UK and therefore deemed it was none of our business."

"Haven't they heard of Eurostar? Terrorists do travel – it's no longer long romantic camel rides in the desert and dancing on the tops of trains. We've moved on from bloody Lawrence of Arabia for God's sake!" Harry's voice was becoming increasingly irate and agitated as the consequences of MI6 secrecy and territorial cordons began to sink in.

Adam interrupted before his boss was consumed in his customary tirade of abuse against the sister service " I know Harry, but we have to focus on here and now – you can start a fire at Vauxhall Bridge once this is all over. I presume Ruth that as the Minister identified these three at the Mansion House reception that they are connected to al Jafar and the Buckingham Palace attack?"

"Well I think it is logical to presume so – it's too much of a coincidence that they appear in London and infiltrate into the main social functions of the Commonwealth talks. What we can't be sure of is whether they are the cell operating with al Jafar or only the coordinators of it acting as a link to a further UK based group. The three Indian Consulate staff are as far as we know not explosives or rocket experts but it doesn't take long to learn how to use a sight-line and press a button and in any case al Jafar could easily have set up and launched a succession of rockets on his own and as for the explosives inside the main reception room they could have been handled by someone of limited experience once they had been assembled."

"That still doesn't answer the question of how those explosives got into Buckingham Palace in the first place. Do we know where those three are now?"

"According to the Buckingham Palace reception list, two of them were at this evening's event but neither were ticked off in the evacuation."

"So" mused Harry thinking aloud "either they slipped away early, having laid or at least primed the explosives after the room was swept and then confirmed the location of the reception to the individual controlling the rocket launch or they are still there – it would be comforting to think that it's their DNA minced with the furnishings in the reception room, but somehow I doubt it. So we have to presume that they and al Jafar are still at large in London, possibly linked to a larger UK cell and fully capable of carrying out a large scale atrocity in the next 24 hours: _'Cry havoc! And let slip the dogs of war._'"

Harry looked intense and determined as he addressed the group:

"We have to find this cell and destroy it and we've got 16 hours before the next meeting of the Commonwealth delegates"

Zaf interrupted: " but how can we be sure that the Commonwealth meeting is their only target?"

"We can't, but they were obviously tasked to cause a major international crisis, both political and economic. That hasn't worked and my guess is they will try again to hit the same target. They can bomb British institutions any time they can pierce the security cordon, the opportunity to attack so many world leaders gathered in one place is much rarer. The Crisis Talks have to remain their primary goal and our priority to protect.

Zaf, you start with the officials at the Indian Consulate – explain politely that they have been harbouring a Trojan horse and we now expect their hundred per cent cooperation. I want access to all their confidential personnel records and I want to question all embassy staff when they come into work first thing tomorrow morning. If they scream diplomatic immunity point out that they would not have been immune to being blown to pieces this evening and that these terrorists have to be stopped even if it means side-stepping the niceties of protocol.

Adam and Ros, we need to know everything 6 isn't telling us about Jafar and his cohorts – his skills, contacts, methods of operation. I don't care whose cages you rattle, I want information, it's partly their secrecy that's caused this mess. Jafar has to have a source of supply for the explosives and rockets he used.

Zaf when you've woken up the Indian Embassy staff & given them the good news about their opportunity to help UK national security get over to Buckingham Palace, work with forensics and let me know as soon as they have identified what type of rockets & explosives were used & where they might have come from.

Jo, go with him. We need to establish how the hell they got explosives & detonators inside the Palace – were there more members of the cell already established in the Household, did they go in as part of the temporary staff or was it just the 3 suspect delegates?

Malcolm turn over every digital stone, I want a shortlist of possible suppliers. Target-specific rockets can't just be picked up in 'Guns R Us', they must have had contacts with specialist dealers or bought them abroad and smuggled them into the country. There are two likely candidates I can think of in London at the moment. One's a Saudi prince by the name of Saeed al Kumar who fancies himself as Ali Baba and the other a Kazakstani arms dealer called Bela Stanavlaski who has a permanent suite at the Savoy.

Catherine you are going fishing. The Saudi prince will be either at the Casino on Park Lane or in the upmarket brothel next door."

"I didn't realise there was a brothel on Park Lane" said Jo incredulously.

"There are brothels everywhere if you know where to look and if your credit card is the right colour," explained Zaf with the authority of one in the know, to whom Harry raised a quizzical and disapproving eyebrow.

"I'll tackle Bela – we go back a long way. I know it might not seem do-able but try to make it home for a few hours all of you, if only to shower and change and we'll meet back here first thing in the morning. I'm sorry none of us is going to have much sleep until this is resolved one way or the other. Thank you."

They all rose quickly from the table except for Ruth, who was busy collecting files together. Harry reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Are you ok Ruth?"

"Yes, fine. I um, I'll carry on checking data against faces shall I?"

"Yes, sorry, I didn't mean to overlook you. Yes, we need to try and establish if al Jafar and the three rogue delegates are working alone or as part of a larger cell. Well done Ruth, the information came at a vital time."

"Not much use to the poor people blown to pieces at Buckingham Palace though."

"No, but we need to look ahead, there is still a high risk of a significant loss of life and your analysis may well provide crucial information."

A brief but heavy silence fell between them.

"Er, about earlier Harry. I'm, I'm s.. sorry I made a fool of myself, of you, it was you know ……. In the heat of the moment … I didn't mean it … I didn't mean to embarrass you …." Ruth's voice trailed off as she fiddled with the corner of one of the files she was clutching to her body. Harry leant towards her and squeezed her hand again

"Look at me Ruth, I wasn't embarrassed. Only happy, really happy that you care about me. When all this is over, when we have time to sit down and talk, I very much hope that there can be a you and me beyond our daily routine."

"But Harry …."

"Ssssh … in the big picture of life and death, I think we can both survive a little embarrassment don't you?"

Ruth replied with a wan smile.

"I'd better get back and out of these clothes or my fairy godmother will have heart failure if they and the jewels are not back under lock and key by tomorrow morning. As it is I've left not one shoe like Cinderella but a pair somewhere in the Palace."

Ruth rose from the table and reluctantly drew her hand out of Harry's grasp. As she moved towards the door he called her name and she turned towards him.

"Ruth, you looked stunning tonight, but like Cinderella you don't need special clothes or jewels to make you desirable not that I necessarily recommend rags and soot as daily attire."

Ruth, who always found personal complements difficult to accept and doubly so now they came from Harry, blushed and stammered:

"I….I'll see you tomorrow then, Good luck with Bela Stanavlaski."

"Goodnight Ruth."

_**The Savoy**_

Harry stood in the open doorway to the hotel suite and cocking his head slightly to one side, smiled a warm but also intimidating greeting at the occupant of the room who was sprawled out on a large sofa between two scantily clad hookers in a haze of hashish smoke with a large glass of whisky in his hand.

"Bela! I'm glad to see you haven't lost your taste for the finer things of life."

"Ah Harry! What a surprise, long time no see. Come in, come in, sit down, have a drink, share a woman, I have plenty of both to go round."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement of the fat man's hospitality.

"Thank you Bela, but I wouldn't want to limit your evening's entertainment, just a glass of your best malt will be fine."

"Come on Harry! Live a little, you can't afford pussy like this on your salary. It's on the house."

Harry sat down in an adjacent armchair and pouring himself a generous tumbler of whisky sat back watching Bela through narrowed eyes with the ghost of a smile dancing round his pursed lips.

"I need your help Bela."

"My help? You, the great Harry Pearce need my help? What is the world coming to? I'm flattered.

Why? – suddenly the mask of geniality slipped to reveal a ruthless and razor-sharp intelligence.

"There's an Al Qaeda cell that's behind the attacks tonight. They're going to try again and next time the death toll will most likely be much higher."

Stanavlaski interrupted him with a shrug of his shoulders:

"How does this affect me Harry. Business is business, but you know I don't trade with Muslims, they've caused enough trouble in my country."

"Yes, but this group may not have been identifying themselves as Al Qaeda, several have been posing as members of the Indian Consulate." Here Harry passed over photos of the 3 delegates and of Jafar.

"Why am I meant to be surprised by this information, no one in this line of business uses their real identity, it's all a game with smoke and mirrors.

"Do you recognise any of the men in the photographs?"

"No."

"This is a very dangerous situation Bela. Not only could it cause a huge loss of life it could destabilise the world economy and certainly send the London Stock Exchange into freefall – now remind me how many million pounds do you have invested in legitimate onshore UK businesses?"

Stanavlaski held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Ok, ok Harry. As I said, I haven't done business with these people and I don't recognise them, but I did hear on the grapevine that there were a group of individuals looking for some rockets in Marseille."

"Marseille?"

"Yes, it's a popular drop-off point these days for cargoes coming by ship from all those former Soviet States around the Caucasus with collapsed economies and stockpiles of old armaments to trade. I absolutely disapprove – such promiscuity depresses the market value for us legitimate arms dealers. Anyway this group were prepared to pay top dollar, but they wanted the latest technology and they wanted it fast."

"So who supplied them Bela?"

"That I don't know. As I said they are literally ships in the night, no regular suppliers, no regular contacts, clean skins, not traceable even in our community; but I do know they were looking for high end rockets, capable of piercing solid concrete and with a range of at least 3 kilometres."

Harry frowned at the unpleasant possibilities such weapons could provide to extremists.

"Thanks Bela, enjoy your evening but remember none of us is as young as we like to think, you're not the man you were in Belarus, don't overdo it."

"Too many pleasures, too little time Harry – what's not to enjoy?"

Harry rose from his seat, downed the last of his drink and exited from the suite with the cloying, pungent smell of hashish clinging to his clothes.

_**Harry's House**_

When he got home it was gone 2 am and Harry sighed deeply with exhaustion as he pushed the front door shut and switched on the lights. A slight noise from the living room snapped him back to full alertness and he moved forward with a light and carefully measured tread. Silently he pushed open the door that was already ajar and stepped into the room.

"Hello Harry. I thought you were never going to get home. Here, let me help you with your jacket."

In front of him appeared the tall figure of Catherine Palmerston completely naked apart from one of his shirts that she wore unbuttoned.

"Jesus Christ Catherine! What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

A stupid question really, as it was obvious what she was doing there – she had come to seduce him, to secure her next conquest and to ensure that he wasn't going to be known as 'the one that got away'. Well she was going to be disappointed, even though she had a toned, inviting body and he was sure she would be an inventive and expert lay.

Catherine unperturbed by Harry's frowning expression came up to him and pressing her body against him reached up and loosening his tie, pulled it down between her firm breasts that he could not help but notice had large dark aureoles and generous inviting nipples. Catherine began to unbutton his shirt,

"We've had a very stressful experience Harry, this is just an opportunity for mutual comfort and consolation."

Harry grasped her hand firmly as she reached down to cup his genitals. Catherine, determined to arouse him to the point where he would lose the will to fight her off, used the opportunity of physical contact and taking his hand, she raised it to her lips, stroking the palm with slow, suggestive, circular movements. Never taking her gaze from his, she opened her mouth and placed one of his middle fingers into its warm, wet interior and began to massage and suck it as a promise of what she could do to other parts of his anatomy. The skin of his finger felt warm and soft and salty as she moved her tongue and lips slowly up and down from tip to shaft. Catherine could not help reflecting that the breadth and length of Harry's fingers most likely indicated the size of his penis and she moaned softly in anticipation.

"What precisely are you doing?" questioned a low, even, menacing voice – God, how she would enjoy hearing that voice whispering obscenities to her; this was a man she didn't just want to conquer, she wanted to savour and possess him. Pausing from her simulation of oral gratification Catherine smiled at him

"If you don't know by now then I'd say your education in the school of life was woefully incomplete, but I'm happy to rectify that with some private lessons."

Harry moved his hand away firmly before she could renew her erotic assault and wiped the lingering saliva impatiently on his shirt.

"A very kind thought Catherine, but no thanks. I thought I made it quite clear yesterday; I don't want to sleep with you, tempting though your offer is. Apart from anything else, you are a junior officer and it is not an acceptable fraternisation."

Catherine's expression hardened as she spat back

"I don't suppose these qualms of conscience would affect you quite so much if it was Ruth standing here?"

Harry looked back at her with a cold angry expression

"Yes, well that is precisely it Catherine, Ruth would not break into my house, strip off and demand sex. Now please, get dressed, go home and focus on what you are meant to be doing. Why are you not at the Park Lane Casino as you were instructed?"

Catherine looked at him in sulky defiance.

"The Prince is at a family reception, the regulars at the Casino expect him back at about 3 am."

"Oh, I see. So you thought you'd just pop in here for an hors d'euvre before the main course?"

Catherine looked at the man in front of her: middle-aged, stocky and balding, but rarely had she encountered someone with more charisma – powerful, sardonic with features that were lived-in but still sensually alluring; a man in short who oozed sex-appeal and she replied with genuine regret in her voice:

"Oh no Harry. Definitely not an hors d'euvre, it was more a banquet I had in mind."

She lifted his hand and placed it on her breast where the aroused nipple rubbed against the palm of his hand "Are you sure? It's your last offer."

"Can I have that in writing please Catherine? Now get dressed and go away before I throw you out."

"Oh I'd enjoy that, you can be as rough as you like."

Harry lost his patience.

"Oh for God's sake Catherine, grow up and get over it. Not every single man you try and seduce is going to fall for it."

He marched over to the door and pointedly held it open for her as she pouted provocatively at him and pulled on a thick sable coat and slid into her stilettos.

"Is that it? Where are the rest of your clothes?"

"I wasn't wearing any. I was expecting you to keep me warm."

"Well we will both have to live with the disappointment. Goodnight Catherine."

After he had checked that Catherine Palmerston had indeed driven off, Harry bolted the door and climbed the stairs to his room. He lay down on the bed in his boxers and vest, feeling drained by the events of the day. Sleep did not come immediately; but when it did it brought vivid dreams of Ruth standing naked in front of him in his living room, inviting him in her soft voice to take her upstairs and make love to her. Recollection of such tantalising and arousing images remained with him after the alarm woke him up and so he was not surprised to realise that he was the proud possessor of an exceptionally hard erection.

"Great start to the day" he reflected ruefully as he padded into the bathroom "knackered and frustrated and with responsibility to stop a major terrorist attack – I'm sure Superman didn't have these problems?"


	7. Chapter 7

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 7**_

**__**

**_After what seems like an eternity of entertaining elderly relatives, I have finally been able to finish off typing up chapter 7 of New Recruit. I hope that you have not totally forgotten the thread of the plot - I know I certainly have and I was more than usually confused trying to keep tabs on who was saying what about whom and why!! If I can work my way through this morass, our heroes should be battling to save our little island with their customary valour in the next week - I have already written the final chapter (the Bridget Jones mini-break for H & R) but there is still an unwritten yawning gap of plot inbetween so please be patient._**

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_**The Grid**_

Harry hurried through the pods to be greeted by a succession of pale but determined faces. The toll of the last 48 hours was beginning to tell, even on the youngest and fittest. Ruth hovered in the background; greeting him with a warm, if diffident smile; her brow creased in concern at his haggard features and worried expression. They all knew that the stakes were high and the prospect of combating the current threat without further loss of life, by no means secure; yet no matter how grim a situation, they always looked to Harry for wisdom and security, almost as a talisman: as someone who would turn the tide of events and see them through once more into calm waters. The burden of responsibility was beginning however, to extort an unacceptable price from Harry. He was continuously under extreme pressure: to fight for the autonomy and well being of his department; to maintain discipline and focus in his team; to make difficult decisions in life-threatening situations; to face crisis after crisis, seek solutions and live with the consequences when those solutions proved fatal to members of his team or to the general public. Far too great a burden to place on anyone's shoulders, too great a stress to achieve results day in day out and not crack under the strain. Adam had chastised Harry only the week before that he was overdoing it and would collapse.

"No one is irreplaceable Adam. If this old carthorse drops between the shafts then you can call the knacker's yard and bring on a new beast of burden to take my place."

His team knew however, that whilst it was true that everyone was replaceable, it was not true that it would be easy to find someone to fill Harry Pearce's shoes.

"Right. I've got to take a call from the Home Secretary and then at 10 the JIC wants briefing, so we will have to be swift with our discussions this morning. I'll see you in the meeting room in 15 minutes. Please be ready with your reports and succinct."

Harry disappeared into his office and shut the door just as Catherine Palmerston arrived on the Grid. She walked purposefully up to Ruth:

"I believe you're the nearest thing Harry has to a secretary Ruth, would you be a dear and give him this – I found I was still wearing it last night when I got home."

Catherine dropped a plastic carrier bag on Ruth's desk and sauntered off. Ruth reached out and deposited the bag down by her feet. She could see Catherine Palmerston was watching her from across the room and she had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of a response, although inwardly her stomach was churning over. Whatever was in the bag was intended to incriminate Harry in some sordid tryst with Catherine and to elicit a reaction in her. Well Catherine Palmerston could go whistle – even if the bag contained used condoms and photos of Harry tied naked to the bed with Catherine in full S & M gear, she was determined not to show any response.

With an impassive expression on her pale face Ruth went on scrutinising the screen in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she also watched Harry in his office and when she saw him put the phone down she quickly rose and picking up the bag as though it contained a venomous snake, carried it through into his office.

"Er, Catherine asked me to give you this. She, er, seems to be under the impression that I moonlight as your PA and er, I don't know what's in there but you might not want to reveal it in public."

Harry scowled in annoyance and looked briefly in the carrier bag before throwing it across the room in obvious bad temper.

"Thank you Ruth, but you don't have to play junior office clerk for Catherine Palmerston."

"Oh I know, but I didn't want you to be embarrassed, you know, in front of the others; er, not that I'm suggesting it could be anything embarrassing of course, it's just you know, being Catherine ……."

Ruth's voice faltered as thoughts of what might have transpired the previous night to create a potential connection between Harry and Catherine Palmerston filled her mind.

"I'd better go."

"No. Please. Sit down Ruth. I need your advice."

Harry gestured to Ruth to sit in his chair whilst he perched on the desk facing her with his back to the Grid.

"When I finally got home last night, Catherine had somehow let herself into my house and prepared a midnight feast with herself as the main item on the menu. She was dressed in my shirt" Harry gestured dismissively over to the carrier bag tangled up in the bin where it had landed "and nothing else."

The obvious question that was burning on Ruth's tongue but which she dare not ask:

"What did you do?" hung in the air between them.

"What the hell am I going to do with her Ruth? Adam thinks I should kick her out, but she's a useful asset at the moment whilst we're stretched to the limit and quite frankly I have neither the time nor the energy to be concerned with sorting out Catherine Palmerston. Any suggestions for an effective way of reining her in?"

"I don't know Harry. Perhaps if you ignore her?"

"Ignoring her is what led to her breaking into my house and trying to seduce me."

"Did she succeed?" The question came out without thinking. Ruth's hand flew to cover her mouth.

"No Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. It's none of my business."

"Yes it is your business Ruth and no I didn't. It's not Catherine Palmerston I want to sleep with."

It was Harry's turn to look embarrassed and realise he had overstepped the mark. Ruth blushed and avoided his eyes. It was a moment that invited a frank exchange but she decided to let the opportunity to openly express their feelings pass them by – this was not the time or the place to step over the boundaries: in the middle of a crisis and in full view of the rest of the Grid.

"Well I presume that Catherine is being persistent either because she doesn't appreciate her will being thwarted or because she doesn't want to damage her reputation as a man-eater or perhaps both."

Harry smiled tersely

"Man-eater? That's a very old-fashioned term Ruth."

"Can you think of a better one? Anyway, other than actually focusing on the operation, maybe what Catherine needs is a new target."?

"Well, as I don't flatter myself that she is attracted to my body, I presume she is after seniority and influence; so we will have to look higher up the food chain to attract her. Who do you have in mind Ruth?"

This was said with a definite twinkle in the eye as Harry reflected on the absurdity of a Section Head of MI5 and his senior analyst pooling resources to deflect the attentions of one troublesome, over-ambitious nymphomaniac.

"I have no actual suggestions at the moment Harry. I'm actually not that well acquainted with the love lives of the higher echelons of the British Security Establishment but I'll make some discreet enquiries when I get the time and I'll get back to you."

"Thanks and in the meantime I'll send Christine Keeler on tasks that will make better use of her undoubted talents."

Ruth smiled in acknowledgement of their collusion and went out of the office and crossed the Grid towards the meeting room.

She was half way across when she was waylaid by Catherine Palmerston.

"I see you gave Harry the bag. Very efficient of you. What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? He took long enough to say nothing!"

"I mean he didn't talk about it."

"Well what was he talking about?"

Catherine was like a dog worrying a bone and Ruth could see she was not going to stonewall her.

"We were discussing operational strategy. Now if you'll excuse one Catherine, we've got to start this meeting. Harry is due at the JIC in just over an hour."

Catherine Palmerston watched Ruth's retreating figure with dislike and muttered to herself:

"Yes, you trot off like an obedient little secretary, Moneypenny; but you'll never keep a man like Harry Pearce with your mealy-mouthed, repressive attitude – he needs fun and passion and eroticism – he needs me. He just hasn't realised it yet."

Smiling in satisfaction at the logic of her deduction Catherine threw a triumphant feline glance at Harry as he overtook her and quickened her pace so that she accidentally-on-purpose was forced to squeeze through the door with him, her hips momentarily thrust into his groin as her legs became tangled between his, but for too brief a time to be accused of sexually provoking him. Harry groaned inwardly. He had no intention of allowing Catherine Palmerston to seduce him, but he could not deny that the sensation of being rubbed and squeezed was very tantalising after the dreams he had experienced the night before. He really should have taken the time to deal with that before he left his house – it would have considerably aided the battle of mind over matter that was being waged in his body at that moment. The last thing he needed was to have to try and make serous decisions on matters of national security with a throbbing frustrated erection twitching in his trousers. He would wring that bloody woman's neck before the day was over; of all the stupid, self-obsessed, shallow creatures …. "

Exasperated, Harry flung himself into his chair and glowered at the assembled operatives.

"Right. We've got precisely 30 minutes. I want a run-down summary from each of you. Adam you start."

Adam despite the dark shadows under his eyes looked focused and determined.

"I've been over at 6 sharing croissants and lattes this morning. Word is, there are whisperings in darkened corridors, but no specific names or the nature of the conspiracy. Some of the senior operatives are involved in this current crisis but which fingers are in which pies and for what reasons, no one knew or at least was not telling."

"Oh my prophetic soul! We're facing one of the most serious of crises in recent times and our fellow defenders have decided to form their own axis of evil. But why?"

"Well that's the key question Harry. Until that is clarified we have no means of knowing what 6's agenda is or if they are directly implicated in any way or are simply playing games to further their own aims."

"Oh you can be sure Adam it will not be for anyone else's benefit and certainly not ours."

Harry turned to Catherine with a quizzical expression

"There's nothing you would like to share with us at this point is there Catherine?"

"If you mean in relation to my colleagues at Vauxhall Cross, no I have no inkling of what Adam is talking about nor do I personally give any credence to the suggestion that MI6 is cohorting with terrorists. It's ludicrous – what would they gain from it? You may have a paranoid suspicion of 6 Harry, but even you cannot seriously accept such a preposterous idea."

Harry narrowed his eyes and replied in an even tone

"If there's one thing I've learnt over the years Catherine, it's to believe anything of anyone. The old adage 'trust in God but keep your powder dry' is nowhere more appropriate than dealing with our sister services; but be that as it may, how did you and Jo get on with Prince Hassim?"

"Oh like a Casino on fire, he was a sweetie."

Jo looked at her with incredulity

"Well he might be your idea of a sweetie but I thought he was a lecherous chauvinist pig."

Catherine sneered back at her

"You can't be petty bourgeois if you're going to make a career in this profession – I know a good sex therapist if you need help overcoming your inhibitions."

Jo opened her mouth to reply but Harry interrupted her

"Let's just focus on what you got out of him shall we? The clock's ticking."

"Er yes, well, he was happy to boast that he was involved in big deals with dangerous men but I think it was just all bluster – he might well know who has supplied the weapons however. He wants to be seen as mad, bad and dangerous to know and will have his finger on the pulse as much as he can. I've got an interesting portfolio of photographs for him to look at and although the light was a little unflattering I'm sure he still wouldn't want his father getting hold of them, so I should find out more from him later. I left my phone under his bed, so I'll be paying him a visit to retrieve it at 10 and oh yes, I won't need backup from Goldilocks this time, I'm sure you've got some files that need sorting Ruth?"

"I'll settle the allocation of my staff thank you Catherine. Zaf, how did you get on with forensics?"

"They've identified all the bodies in the reception room. Not surprisingly none were of the three consulate officials – there were four Buckingham Palace staff, two Special Branch officers and a journalist who had sneaked in to take exclusive shots of the delegates and appears to have been hiding in an adjacent storage room and was crushed by a collapsing wall. Er, in terms of the explosives, the main damage was caused by rockets and there is enough fragmentary evidence to suggest they are similar to those being currently used on both sides in the Gaza strip. There are a depressingly large number of possible suppliers of such weapons they come from a number of sources in the former Soviet Union and the Far East and are easily obtained all over the Middle East and Eastern Europe."

"How much expertise is needed to launch them?"

"A fair degree of specialist knowledge, but they use satellite guidance systems, so anyone with a grasp of basic electronics can be taught to use them without difficulty."

"I don't know what's more frightening" said Ruth vehemently "the thought of extremists with specialist skills loose in London with rocket launchers or some random geek with a grievance and 10 evening classes in how to launch your own Armageddon wandering around the streets looking for targets."

"Well specialist or not the targets are certainly not random. Malcolm, what security measures are in place for the Conference Meeting?"

"Well Special Branch have recommended relocating one hour before the meeting is due to convene, to minimise security leaks; but this is presuming of course that there is a meeting – many of the delegates are pretty windy about the whole business and there is a growing consensus that the talks should abandoned."

"But that's ridiculous, it's just playing into the hands of the terrorists."

"Well maybe, Harry, but if you feel that you're walking around with a bulls eye painted on your back it's difficult not to panic. They're not profession soldiers after all."

"No but they do represent the role of law, politics is not simply about champagne breakfasts and chauffeur driven limousines, it's also about obligations and leading by example. If they don't have backbones then they are going to have to grow some. These talks must continue or the next time any sort of meeting is held in London it will be like declaring the Grouse Season open for every extremist with a grudge the length and breadth of the land. I'll have words with the Home Secretary, see if he can rouse a little more esprit de corps; but in the meantime make sure that each delegate is made aware that anyone leaving the talks will be photographed and their action reported in the international press."

Harry's eyes swivelled towards Ruth

"Any developments in linking Jafar with other UK cells?"

"Not Jafar, but I have made headway with the three posing as Embassy officials. The two Pakistanis have been identified by Special Branch as being involved in a drug trafficking ring based in the Isle of Dogs that was busted by the Met's drug division six months ago."

Ruth put up juxtaposed candid shots of two nondescript men of Middle Eastern appearance.

"The ring was smuggling heroin out of Afghanistan into Kashmir where it was hidden in the luggage of specialist tours that operate from the UK."

"Why didn't they get caught on routine border inspections?" enquired Zaf.

"Because the tours were for OAP's and the officials in Kashmir probably didn't think they posed a viable threat and in any case were probably bribed. Anyway the tourists would travel with their luggage overland by train to Jaipur and then Bombay where they would join a cruise through the Suez Canal and into the Mediterranean. A number of the gang would be on board the cruise ship and take possession of the bags containing the shipment and would slip away from the ship at a stopping point before Southampton, probably Lisbon. It was only when one of the bags was muddled up and a consignment of high grade heroin ended up being discovered in the luggage of an eighty-two year old retired professor that the ring was uncovered."

"So this same ring could have been used to smuggle in rockets?"

"Precisely" said Ruth with a triumphant gleam in her eye."

"Yes" said Harry slowly and deliberately "that would certainly fit in with what Bela Stanavlaski was telling me last night about weapon routes in and out of Marseilles and presumably they would bring shipments in by boat from the French coast? But the question is how our heroin peddlers are connected to Jafar?"

"Well, drug trafficking out of Afghanistan is an established source of revenue for Al Qaeda, so they could either be Al Qaeda members acting as drug traffickers or drug traffickers acting as couriers for Al Qaeda, but either way the possibilities for contact between them and Jafar are numerous."

"OK, what about the third official does he tie in with the two Pakistanis and Jafar?"

"Yes well the Iraqi he's a different kettle of fish. His name's Mustafa Zahir Shah, a Sunni and one of Saddam's political advisors. He disappeared after Baghdad fell. His immediate family: mother, wife and two young children were killed in a sectarian mortar attack on their neighbourhood. Mustafa vanished and it was thought he had fled across the border into Syria. Then a year ago he surfaced in Algiers and was reported to be part of an Al Qaeda cell that was blowing up public buildings. He was caught on CCTV shortly before one explosion but was never apprehended. Now he's turned up in London. He could be known to Jafar from the North African connection or any one of a number of Middle Eastern links. What is certain is that he's ruthless, dangerous and with a bitter grudge against the West, with I have to say some justification."

"Right. So we have two senior Al Qaeda operatives at large in London with an arsenal of sophisticated rockets and other weaponry and two willing if not experienced helpers. So the questions are these: is this the extent of our cell? And what do we have to do to locate and neutralise it?"

"Well, it's impossible to say for certain that they don't have help from sympathisers, at least in terms of the provision of safe houses, intelligence support, transport and so on, but I haven't been able to identify any direct link with other groups and given that Al Qaeda like to operate in small, autonomous cells, it's possible it is just those four. The fewer involved the less likely there is to be a security breach."

"So Adam, to the second question. How do we go about finding and eliminating these bastards before they cause further serious loss of life?"

"Well, we won't find them with conventional surveillance. We don't know their whereabouts or their contacts and they will stay well away from any cameras, so the only option is to bait a trap."

"So who will be the bait?"

"The Commonwealth delegates. We'll give the group what they want and then catch them when they try and attack."

"Let me get this straight Adam. You are suggesting that we put at risk the lives of approximately 70 Heads of State and foreign ministers in the tenuous hope that we can forestall any planned atrocity before it can be carried out and what if we fail to stop such an attack that we had colluded to? I'm sorry but the Home Secretary would never sanction it. In fact I don't think I would sanction it."

"It's the only option we've got Harry. Think about it. The media reports that the delegates are bravely going to continue talks at a secluded location – I don't know, Chequers, Grassington Hall, anywhere contained where we can more readily identify and track the movement and launching of rockets away from a dense population area. The delegates' limousines arrive; they enter the building and are immediately escorted through to waiting vans and driven away from the premises to a secure alternative venue for the talks. The security forces monitor for lock-on signals, locate and disarm the rockets and neutralise the threat."

Catherine Palmerston shook her head in disbelief " You've been watching too many James Bond films Adam. I've heard reports that you take risks but this is absolutely reckless. Wake up, this is the real world not some la-la land where Biggles Carter flies in and saves the day."

Adam turned angrily on Catherine

"And I've heard reports that when you were not on your back in the service of your country you were sleeping your way through the ranks of 6 in the hope of securing the greater good of Catherine Palmerston, so why exactly am I meant to value the opinion of 6's answer to Mata Hari?"

Harry intervened " These personal attacks are unprofessional and a waste of valuable time the pair of you focus on the discussion or you will both be out on your ear. Adam your plan is bold but it has two serious flaws. What makes you think that an operative of Jafar's experience will fall for such a ruse? And how do you intend to remove the delegates without arousing suspicion? If the Iraqi is as well connected as Ruth suggests then he as well as Jafar will have access to sophisticated monitoring equipment, they are not going to be fooled by some magic circle legerdemain with the delegates."

"I think it's do-able, risky yes, but do-able and what choice do we have Harry? The only hope we have of nailing Jafar is to entrap him and if we don't catch them there are going to be more attacks and more loss of life, possibly on a horrific scale."

Harry frowned and rubbed his hand down his face, dragging his fingers slowly over his soft cheeks.

"Ok, but you make damned sure those delegates are not put in any unnecessary danger. Wiping out half the Commonwealth Heads of State whilst in our care is not something any of us want on our CV's. Right. I've got to be in Whitehall in ten minutes so this meeting is finished. Report back to me any developments. Adam, you stay and take charge of the Grid and liase with Special Branch over the relocation of the Commonwealth meeting. The subsequent removal of the delegates is on a strictly need-to-know basis - as far as the remaining security services are concerned Grassington Hall will be the real venue. I'll inform the Home Secretary of what we are proposing and get his clearance. The prospect of again being a target for a rocket attack should finish off what is left of the PM's self control so I'm not promising this will be approved."

"It has to be Harry, we have to stop these people if we are to avert major carnage in central London."

Just as Harry was pulling on his coat to go down to his waiting car Ruth slipped into his room.

"Harry."

"Whatever it is, not now Ruth, I've got seconds to spare."

"It's important Harry."

"Alright. What?"

"When I contacted my friend in C Division to clarify about security measures I picked up a rumour that the DG is going to resign."

"And? If you think I'm going to need further coaching Ruth forget it; being grilled once by you, never mind the appointment committee, was more than enough. I don't intend to repeat the exercise."

"Er, no Harry. Not that I don't think you'd be good at the job; no the rumour is that the PM is very keen to appoint an outsider."

"An outsider? As in one of his lickspittle tame officials or outsider as in Clement Attlee appointing a policeman to the job in 1945 and paralysing the whole Security Force as a result?"

"Er, well someone who will be loyal to his interests and certainly hands-on experience is not a priority. He's been heard to express the opinion that someone with a more detached viewpoint could be beneficial."

Harry groaned and wearily pulled his hand down over his soft pliant features.

"Wonderful. We face a major terrorist threat from a still unconfirmed number of individuals, possibly with the complicity of part of the security forces for God knows what reason and now you're telling me the PM wants to appoint one of his aphasic caballers to take charge of this snake-pit of intrigue. That's what the country needs – another incompetent, self-serving politician given authority over a vital area of National Security. It's enough to make you despair of democracy – come back Louis XIV all is forgiven."

"I would have thought it was the PM's sense of aggrandisement and self importance that lead to this idea in the first place Harry, so perhaps another Sun King is the last thing we need just at the moment."

"Well, whatever the PM's motivation this is just going to have to wait. But thanks Ruth, hopefully a positive result in this present crisis will give us some bargaining power to try and bury that particular plan for empire building."

As he said this Harry moved past Ruth, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek as he opened the door. The touch of his hand on her arm and the sensation of his lips brushing her skin made Ruth's heart rate accelerate rapidly and her eyes locked onto his with a steadfast, penetrating gaze. In a low, breathless voice she murmured

"You're late Harry, you have to go."

Yet still he hesitated, his hand on the door handle, transfixed by the beauty of her eyes and the blend of passion and intelligence revealed in their expression. The ghost of a Mona Lisa smile at the corners of her mouth was acknowledged by a softening of his own expression, the frown lines in his forehead smoothed by the smile that fleetingly suffused his features.

"Yes. Meetings to sit in, threats to neutralise. A Section Head's work is never done and yet all I want at this moment Ruth is to sit by the sea with you in my arms and watch the sun go down."

"_Uneasy sits the head that wears the crown, _I'm afraid Harry. A personal life is not a luxury that spooks can afford to indulge in very often as you keep telling us; but I appreciate the thought. Now get going before the Home Secretary is ordered to find a new Section Head as well as a DG."

Harry sprang out of his office and marched across the Grid.

"Any developments Adam red flash me. I should be back within the hour."

Harry looked the epitome of authority and efficiency as he exited through the pods, but his mind was far from being focused on the imminent meeting at Whitehall. His imagination had rebelled against self-control and was sensually kissing Ruth and slipping his hands under her clothes, caressing her bare skin as she lay back between his knees facing out over alternative views of craggy Cornwall and picturesque Portofino. Obviously not content with these fantasies his conscious brain was suddenly beguiled with his re-occurring dream of Ruth leading him up the stairs into his bedroom at home and starting to undress him. Harry shook himself mentally

"For God's sake get a grip – you're going to need all your wits about you in the next 24 hours, biological urges and emotional desires are just going to have to wait."

Ignoring the physical signs that his subconscious had other ideas, Harry jumped briskly into his car and was whisked away in a discreet purr of the 4 litre Lexus.


	8. Chapter 8

**THE NEW RECRUIT**

**Chapter 8**

True to his word Harry was back on the Grid within the hour. Adam was the first to greet him:

"How did it go?"

"As badly as can be expected in the circumstances. The PM is in a blind funk and incapable of making constructive decisions. At one point I thought we would need the smelling salts. The military top brass are cautious when they should be decisive; 6 are clearly playing a game to their own agenda, part of which at least appears to be leaving as much manure at our door as they have time to shovel. Even the Home Secretary was too busy playing Pontius Pilate to make any positive contribution. In short no one knows what is happening, no one is sure of the best way to tackle the crisis and the only opinion that unites them is that it is our responsibility. If the op goes arse up we will shoulder the blame and if it succeeds everyone will claim credit. So business as usual. Now we've wasted enough time licking politicians' bottoms, lets get these bastards and then maybe we can all have a few hour's sleep."

"I've got the team coming back for a show and tell meeting at noon."

"Fine, just time for me to grab a coffee. Order some food in . We'll turn it into a brunch as otherwise none of us is likely to get chance to eat today."

_**Transport Café, Hoxton, East London**_

_2 figures are huddled over a chipped and stained table. One a stocky man of Middle-Eastern appearance in his early 30's with a pronounced cockney accent, the other a familiar tall balding figure whose reptilian features suggest ruthlessness, ambition and a total disregard for the niceties of acceptable behaviour._

"What the hell do you think you're playing at? You could have blown up half the Commonwealth Conference, not to mention the Royal Family."

"You wanted it to look convincing."

"Yes well, not that bloody convincing and if this ever gets out we or rather you, are going to have to account for seven bodies, not to mention the slight matter of the repair bill. We have not spent the last two years constructing your profile and funding this operation to have it fail because you get carried away with pretending to be a real terrorist."

"Don't get pushy with me. Remember I know where the bodies are hidden in this little scheme."

"And remember I buried the bodies in the first place."

"Anyway I've far more to lose than you have. I'm the one who's got a dossier on him proving he's Al Qaeda's number two in Europe. I'm sure you've well and truly covered your own arse with a fool proof get-out plan, so let's make no mistake I'm the one with the most to lose it this goes belly up; but it won't. Everyone in this country is as paranoid as the Yanks in their 'Reds under the Beds' phase in the sixties. Given a little more time and one or two more atrocities and you too will find your own McCarthy."

"Well perhaps no bad thing. I can think of one man in particular I would enjoy seeing up before the Committee for un-British Activities. Anyway this isn't why we're meeting. Whitehall is in a flat spin, the Commonwealth Conference is on the verge of collapse, we're almost at the point of tipping the scales, but not quite. We need to precipitate mass panic and that will only be achieved with the apparent launching of a major terrorist attack on UK soil. Our backers are getting nervous that they won't see a proper return on their investment."

"Ok, I know, I get the picture – panic leads to Stock market collapse and then our friends buy up shares and make a killing big time when the terrorist cell is defeated. I'm getting a nice fat pay-check out of this, my friend Mustafa can gloat at the mayhem inflicted on his enemies; what I haven't sussed out yet is what's in it for you and that worries me. I don't like mysteries surrounding men who hold my life and liberty in their hands."

"My motivation need not concern you. Let's just say that panic creates a power vacuum where politicians are weak and desperate for solutions. Ample opportunities to redraw boundaries and consolidate spheres of influence."

"Well it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to sit higher up the mahogany desk."

"Let's get down to why we are here shall we? Much as I would love to stay and share a bacon butty, we are going to make this short and sweet. You have 8 rockets left. They need to be launched simultaneously for maximum effect; so the question remains: where and when? When is determined by the timing of the Commonwealth meeting, word is that it will be this evening. Where is more problematic. They need to be spread over a number of major targets to suggest a serious and well-co-ordinated attack. Two rockets will target the Commonwealth meeting which is likely to be out of London probably Surrey or Sussex, I'll relay the exact co-ordinates when I have them. Two further rockets will target the City but try and avoid the Swiss Re Tower, I'm rather fond of it; two must land on Heathrow, preferably the runway and certainly nowhere near any of the main terminal buildings; one in the grounds of Windsor but no structural damage to the castle itself we're not philistines and then last but certainly not least, target the last rocket on Thames House."

Mace's companion looked puzzled "Thames House? Where the hell is that and what is it?"

"A minor branch of the Civil Service but indulge me. Again I'll give you the co-ordinates and don't worry so much about casualties they're not civilians."

"Not that I'm suggesting a blood bath but won't this 'terrorism with a conscience' send out a mixed message and lessen the impact of the attack."

"No, because we'll issue a warning that this is a wake-up call and the next attack will inflict massive casualties unless our demands are met for a full withdrawal of all British troops from Afghanistan and Iraq. The Government will of course come out with the usual guff about not negotiating with terrorists, the Stock Exchange will go into freefall at the prospect of a major attack on London and the whole of Whitehall will be plunged into crisis – Bingo."

"Well the main practical difficulty to achieving all this is that these targets are scattered all over London and the Home Counties, how the hell do you expect them to go off simultaneously when there are only 4 'terrorists'? Of which only one is bonafide and experienced with handling such weapons and much as Mustafa likes to think that he's God I don't think that even he can be in four places at once."

"He doesn't have to be, that's the beauty of those rockets, as long as the co-ordinates are set accurately enough they can be launched from a central point and are accurate up to 5 kms, so the attack will only need three launch sites – one for the central London targets of the City & Thames House, one for Windsor and Heathrow and the third for the Commonwealth Meeting. You and Mustafa can take the Central targets and the two less capable 'martyrs' can deal with the Commonwealth Meeting, in fact after Mustafa's overzealous attack on Buckingham Palace it's probably a good idea to leave it to the coke-heads, at least they're not capable of trying to wipe out half the leaders of the Third World, at least not intentionally So are you and your fellow terrorists up to this? I don't want any cock-ups."

"Yes we are, the rockets are simple to use but the risks are greater than we initially planned, attempting to launch simultaneous attacks from multiple sites wasn't in our brief and it's going to cost you. Also I'm risking my life, you didn't tell me at the outset that one of the gang you recruited was going to be an actual terrorist, that Mustafa is a nasty piece of work and if he has even the smallest suspicion that all is not kosher, if you excuse the mixed cultural reference and that he has been set up then he'll kill me without a moment's hesitation. So I think that degree of risk deserves a bonus."

Mace leaned over the table and grabbed the man by the throat.

"And what do you think it will cost you if you try and blackmail me again? You will do it for the price agreed and you will do it without messing up if you know what is good for you."

The man who went by the name of Jafar rubbed his neck in obvious discomfort.

"There's no need to get aggressive. Is the exit route still as agreed?"

"Yes. There will be a boat down at the assigned mooring at 6 am tomorrow morning. It won't wait so I suggest you and your goons make sure you're on time or you'll be swimming across the channel."

"How do I know I'll get paid?"

"Don't be crass. You're not dealing with one of your East End Mafia now you know. Those with a vested interest in this adventure are more than happy to bankroll your efforts on our behalf. In the meantime stay out of sight. The last thing we want is for the plods to pick you up before tomorrow morning."

Mace rose and with a terse nod at the other man walked out of the door and melted into the crowd.

_**The Grid**_

The atmosphere at the lunchtime meeting was to say the least strained. Harry was brusque and ruthless, riding roughshod over weaknesses and any sign of ineptitude. Not surprisingly it was Jo who was first in the firing line.

""What have you managed to find out about the two Pakistanis and the Iraqi?"

"Er well, as Ruth told us earlier …."

"Thank you Miss Portman, but I am not sufficiently mentally impaired that I need a recap of Ruth's findings only three hours after she last updated us. I'm interested in what you have found out. If that is precisely zilch then please say so and stop wasting my time."

Jo blushed and stammered as Harry's intimidating gaze rendered her mentally paralysed and floundering

"Er no, I mean yes, we have found out something."

"Well go on spit it out, this is no afternoon tea at Henley, we haven't got time for polite chit chat."

"Er yes, it's about Jafar or rather it's about Jafar not being what he appears."

"Oh for God's sake, this is like trying to communicate with the Spinx. Ruth, can you please translate."

Ruth frowned at him

"What Jo is quite CLEARLY trying to explain to you Harry, is that the facts that we have been given about Jafar don't quite add up. Records from both 6 and Special Branch clearly name him as Al Qaeda's number two in Europe; but we contacted the Spanish and French authorities to check out possible links with arms dealers in Marseille and none of them have information on him as a senior terrorist nor were they aware of him being an established Al Qaeda member. In fact my French counterpart suggested it was just an example of what passed for humour in the English Security Services. Jafar is down on the records of Interpol however as an established drug dealer with routes out of Afghanistan via India and Turkey."

"Let me get this straight – the man profiled in British Security records as a senior Al Qaeda operative has not shown up on the European radar except as a junkie's delight, so the question is: is the drug dealing a cover for an unknown Al Qaeda operative or is the legend of Al Qaeda operative a cover for something else and if so what, why and by whom and above all why are there detailed records of him in the UK which are not known to our European cousins? Come on people. Brain storm – that's what your under-paid wage packets are for."

As usual it was Adam who was first off the mark, lateral thinking and the free association of ideas being his strength:

"Al Qaeda wouldn't give an operative the legend of a drug dealer, it's too attention-seeking. Their approach is to integrate individuals over a long period of time into stable, main stream society – look at the 9/11 bombers: neighbours, work colleagues, friends, no one had suspicions, in fact many refused to believe the facts even when they were confronted with them."

"Ok, so if he's not an Al Qaeda operative then who is he? why is he here masquerading as an Al Qaeda insurgent? and who is behind this campaign against the Commonwealth Conference?"

"Someone who wants to harm the Commonwealth?"

Jo's reasonable question was met with a snort of derision by Ros:

"The Commonwealth has as much international clout as a WI Convention, in fact probably a lot less, no one needs to attack the Commonwealth. It's an international laughing stock, a parade of political egos indulging in air kissing and drinking their way through the mini bars of a thousand Hiltons."

Harry leant forward in his chair, his expression alert and intense

"Ros is right, we've got to look at the wider picture. Who would stand to gain from de-railing the Commonwealth talks?"

Adam responded:

"The talks are just a face-saving exercise, so there is little to gain from sabotaging the talks in terms of the political outcome, it's a foregone conclusion that all that will come out of these discussions is a large hotel bill and a lot of empty promises, so I think we have to see them as a means rather than an end. Someone is looking to destabilise the situation in the UK and possibly globally. Let's approach this from a different angle. What are the usual motivations for terrorism?"

Zaf speedily answered with text-book thoroughness:

"Ideology, political power, money."

"Ok fine, so what is this? If they had succeeded last night and hundreds of Commonwealth delegates and their officials had been blown up, what would have happened?"

Ruth was the first to collate the wide range of random possibilities into a coherent list:

"International outrage of varying degrees: Commonwealth Governments and Western powers outraged, the Russians and Chinese sympathetic but indifferent, Middle-Eastern powers protesting at anti-Islamic propaganda in the Western media and suggesting responsibility for the attack was the CIA. Panic in the UK that this might be the onset of another terrorist onslaught leading to the destabilisation of financial markets, a drop in currency rates and the value of stocks and shares leading to radical political repercussions, possibly even the fall of the government or at least the introduction of more draconian anti-terrorism measures."

Harry held up his hand to halt Ruth's fervid extemporising

"Now let's just assess the implications of all that, starting with the UK. Deteriorating international relations, slumping stock exchange, a political vacuum and mood of unrest and paranoia: who would gain from such a Pandora's box of instability and flux?"

Ros's cool tones interceded

"Those seeking political control: opposition parties, vested interests. Let's not forget terrorist organisations themselves, Al Qaeda do profess to desire the destruction of the Western economies, so this crisis may just be intended to do what it says on the packet – cause mayhem and panic. And at the other end of the spectrum there is commercial self-interest – speculators on a get-rich-quick manipulation of the stock market: cause a crash, buy up shares and then sell high when the terrorist threat abates and the markets recover confidence."

Harry leaned back in his chair pressing the points of his fingers in concentration against his soft full lips:

"I'm increasingly less convinced by the idea of this being Al Qaeda, Adam's right there's something not quite believable about the terrorist credentials of this cell. I smell the odour of political and possibly financial machinations, certainly enough to explore a little further."

Harry turned to Adam:

"What if this is not a conspiracy by deranged extremists of whatever persuasion to effect Armageddon but a grubby plot by a group of individuals for their own financial gain?"

"Well it's a very serious game plan if it is. We'd have to look to the top end of the financial food chain to find the will and the serious dosh needed to buy and sell on a scale to make the risks of such a conspiracy worth while and also individuals with the contacts and means to purchase high tec rockets and find suitable stooges to use them."

"Right. Ros may be correct and it is an Al Qaeda led conspiracy in which case we are barking up the wrong tree in the wrong forest, but I think it's worth an initial investigation if only to eliminate the idea of hime-grown financial and /or political intrigue being behind these attacks . Malcolm and Ruth. I want profiles of all possible contenders and any unusual movement of funds whether in London accounts or off shore."

Malcolm voiced his reservations at Harry's order:

"It's very difficult to get details of offshore accounts."

"I'm not interested in privacy laws. This is a question of national security and if the bloody Inland Revenue are allowed access to all areas then so are we. Adam you and Ros get down to the City and see what you can pick up on the grapevine. Catherine, there's got to be a connection between Jafar and his cohorts, the supplier of the armaments and whoever is funding these attacks. Have another go at the Saudi Prince, even if as you suggest, he isn't directly involved, he's likely to know who might be."

"Well, he didn't role over as expected with the photos, apparently his father actually encourages him to bed Western women so that the Saudi flowers of womanhood can remain unsullied so we'll have to hit him where it really hurts – in his pocket and Casino stings don't come cheap."

"Well there isn't a great wad of cash available - the budget is already sorely overstretched by this op , you'll just have to be inventive Catherine; I'm sure given your natural talent for entrapment and blackmail you will come up with something and just in case you need some additional deviant ideas you can take Zaf with you but I need him back for the Commonwealth meeting later this afternoon. Fortunately it has been postponed until 5 pm,which gives us some breathing space; but that is not to say that another attack will not be carried out somewhere else, so we much crack this as soon as possible. Report back any developments. Thank you everyone."

Harry signalled to Adam to stay behind as the other members of the team left the meeting room.

"I can't put my finger on it Adam, but I feel it in my waters that Oliver Mace is somehow involved in this. It's devious, cloudy and smells of dark deeds in dark places. I'm going to pay a visit to the opium dens of Whitehall and see if I can dig up anything."

"Be careful Harry, all you're likely to find is the whiff of sulphur and a knife between your shoulder blades."

"Don't worry Adam, back-stabbing is an occupational hazard, I'm used to it. Meanwhile make sure everything is in place for the evacuation at Grassington Hall – we may be nearer to knowing the whys of this plot, but we still don't know who or when and we may well have to fall back on your plan to catch them red-handed."

_**The Grid: 2 pm**_

Harry walked slowly into his office and sat down heavily in his chair with pursed lips. He was reaching over for the lass of whisky he had poured for himself when Ruth peered around the corner of the door.

"Er Harry, there's something you need to see."

Harry savoured one gulp of single malt, feeling it's fire course down his throat and settle a stomach queasy with hunger and anxiety, before turning his attention to the news that an agitated Ruth was already spilling forth in staccato bites of information. His focus on the profiles of financiers and the complex details of their bank accounts that were being reeled off by Ruth was challenged by the physical sensation of inhaling her subtle perfume and feeling the brush of her hair against his cheek as she leant forwards over his shoulder, manipulating the mouse in front of him to bring up the salient information on the screen in front of them.

"Your reference to the Inland Revenue gave us an idea. We hacked into the records of the current Inland Revenue investigation of offshore accounts – it's part of the Treasury's drive to claw back more funds without being seem to raise taxes. Anyway, it's a mammoth task to try and pin down any particular transactions as suspicious because the nature of these accounts is that large sums of money are constantly being shifted around in currency deals, share trading etc and even above-board transactions are disguised and deliberately obscured by subfuscious procedures. However, Malcolm used a software screening device developed by the FBI to trace money-laundering by the Mafia that with some further tweeking can also be used for these UK offshore accounts to highlight patterns of transactions that might be suspicious and we came up with these …."

Ruth leant further over Harry's shoulder to point at the screen, so that he could feel her breath on his neck and her physical proximity send a tingle of desire through his body.

"This group of financiers, Mick Grahams, John le Suchet, Henry Lesczyznski and Adam Pendleby –Jones, all have connections with the transfer of large sums of money into holding accounts in the same Cayman Island investment bank ATI ."

"What do you mean by large sums?"

"Oh eye-wateringly big, more than a billion between them."

Adam, who had come into the room soon after Ruth and was standing at her side, whistled his astonishment:

"Certainly enough to organise an impressive share-manipulation, but whilst I'm not a great lover of city types, I can't see them organising a fake terrorist attack just to add a few extra zeros to their annual bonuses. I've just been sniffing around the wheelers and dealers and the word is that there are some potential big deals going down, but these people think purely in terms of power lunches and boardroom showdowns, they're not the types to go hiring hit men and certainly not buying rockets from arms dealers."

"No, but they may just know a chap who does. There are too many people in Whitehall claiming to know nothing and to have heard nothing for there not to be something afoot."

"Is that because they're involved or because they don't want to be involved?"

"I don't know as yet, but either way it points to official complicity in some form, although for what benefit is not as yet clear; but given that neither politicians nor the power house of the National Security departments are given to acts of altruism, if we can identify the advantage to be gained by the mayhem, we should be able to identify the perpetrators. In the meantime, we've run out of time. The delegates are going to be enroute to Grassington in an hour so we are going to have to revert to your plan Adam to entrap the so-called terrorists and hope to God nothing goes wrong."

"You see this is what doesn't make sense Harry. Not that I would normally side with Ros Meyers, but surely neither financiers, politicians or even a man like Oliver Mace would sanction mass slaughter to achieve their ends?"

"Well it's appropriate you raise Ros's name. What about her father and his fellow conspirators ? – they were happy to sanction carnage and mayhem on an unforeseeable scale to achieve their objectives. We don't know what is the end plan of these people Adam or how ambitious the plan is and we have to presume that they are willing and able to do whatever it takes if the prize is big enough. Now come on we've got a conference to attend."

_**Please leave a review, I'm feeling bogged down in all the exposition of the last two chapters and could do with encouragement to plough on to the denouement.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 9**_

I**_ don't want to sound like one of the production team from Kudos in an interview in a force 9 gale but the following plot development was written before the whole London/Glasgow terrorist crisis broke, so please don't think that it is making capital from the present crisis. Also as only a handful of people are likely to source this fic I think it would be over precious to suggest that this chapter should be delayed in posting on until a later date; but, for those of our select 'band of brothers' who don't want to read even more coverage of failed terrorist attacks: look away now! _**

****

**_Grassington Hall_**

Police cars were parked three deep by the tall imposing wrought iron gates whilst familiar blue and yellow helicopters hovered overhead like annoying wasps and men with flak jackets and telescopic rifles patrolled the grounds. The two black Lexus cars travelling in convoy were momentarily halted at the main checkpoint before gliding up the long tree-lined avenue. Adam sat in the back of the first car with Harry whilst Zaf drove the second car that held the two female field officers of the team. Ros gazed out of her window willing the journey to end whilst Jo played eye-flirting with Zaf in his rear-view mirror until Ros's acid tongue broke the silent communion:

"If I'm going to end up mangled in a car crash Zaf, I'd rather it was in the line of duty rather than as a consequence of your adolescent games – keep your eyes on the road and your mind off the sexual availability of your colleagues."

Jo blushed scarlet and immediately dropped her gaze but Zaf was unabashed:

"Some men can multi-task Ros – so shall I put you down as a possible then?"

Ros shot him a piercing look of annoyance:

"I can think of few things in life with less appeal."

Zaf continued in his quasi-jocular tone, determined to both wind Ros up further and have the last word:

"I don't know, don't knock it until you've tried it, you might be pleasantly surprised."

Ros surmising that Zaf would be quite happy to continue to exchange witticisms indefinitely scowled witheringly at him and went back to staring out of the window as they continued to advance slowly up the driveway.

Meanwhile Adam and Harry were in deep discussion about the planned evacuation of the delegates.

"This whole procedure is very risky Adam. Pander to my middle-aged caution and go through the schedule again."

Adam smiled tolerantly at the older man.

"Your caution is a consequence of personality not age Harry. Anyway, the delegates will arrive between three and four. Their cars will draw up at the main entrance and they will be greeted by the PM and the Home Secretary. They will enter the main building and be escorted into the main reception room and from there into waiting vans parked alongside a rear door – there have been delivery vans arriving and departing since two o clock so additional vans should not draw any undue attention. The delegates will be driven back in groups of ten to Whitehall where the talks will get underway at six."

"How can you be sure that your human cargo won't be spotted being loaded into the vans or that the lack of delegates at Grassington won't become apparent and frighten off any attackers before they can be apprehended?"

"The delegates will be wearing commercial overalls and should not draw attention especially from a distance and as for the empty meeting room – I've arranged for a group of film extras to be brought in so to outside observers it will appear that the talks are going ahead."

"Hmm, well let's hope there are no moles operating inside the building: your operation hinges on the presumption that no one will get a close-up view of the proceedings. This is still a very high-risk operation. If the delegates are spotted leaving there could be carnage. Even if you remove them successfully, that still leaves a large number of people at Grassington who are sitting ducks. How sure are you that a rocket attack can be prevented?"

"The army will be tackling that side. They have assured me that as long as they know the target area they can provide adequate protection. There will be jamming devices and anti-rocket ordinance in position. Any attempt to pinpoint the target will be detected and any rocket launch will be neutralised. I know there's no point in saying it Harry, but stop worrying, it will be fine."

This was said with a confident air and a quick smile but the tension around Adam's eyes betrayed to any who knew him well that he was far from being 100 per cent confident about the outcome.

The gravel of the driveway crunched discreetly as the Lexus turned and came to a halt in front of an impressive porticoed entrance that was guarded by armed police. A dozen or so delegates loitered by the marble columns greeting fellow diplomats as they arrived.

"Get these people out of here Adam, they're a soft target."

"They've got to look natural in case they're being watched. The cell are not going to launch an attack until they think all the delegates are assembled."

"Well I wish I could share your confidence in the rational behaviour of these terrorists. We still don't know who's behind these attacks or what their objective is; so it's a little naïve to presume that we can accurately predict what their next move will be."

The bulk of Harry's stocky form was silhouetted against the bright afternoon light as he moved through the milling groups of delegates, greeting one figure with a welcoming firm handshake and another by a sharp nod of his head.

"Well gentlemen, shall we go through into the reception area, we'll create a bottleneck waiting out here and I'm sure you are all anxious to resume discussions as soon as possible after the unfortunate interruptions of yesterday."

Harry smiled affably at the assembled delegates but his eyes were alert and scanning the horizon for any signs of a hostile presence. Flanked by the tall athletic form of Adam, he ushered the dawdling crowd into the marbled entrance hall and through into a spacious reception room where a colourful melee of assembled nationalities and ages were already assembled. Drinks and canapés were circulated and Adam, Zaf and Ros discreetly approached individual delegates and guided them out of a side door in the far corner of the room. Everyone was so busy drinking and chatting that the gradual removal of the diplomats and their replacement by new people similarly attired, was not obvious. At the rear of the building there was a steady hum of activity as vans arrived and food, drink, flowers and laundry were unloaded whilst simultaneously a discreet human cargo was stowed in the vehicles, which then departed. Some of the Commonwealth delegates were clearly alarmed by the procedure and the obviously threat to their safety that the subterfuge suggested whilst others were merely disgruntled at the inconvenience. One and all were ushered discreetly into the vans and urged to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard bench seats that would be their means of transport back to the real venue for the Conference in central London.

After about half an hour Zaf signalled that the last of the genuine Commonwealth members had left. Harry glanced at his watch: 4.45. The meeting was scheduled for 5.00 pm – if an attack was to be launched it would likely come in the next half an hour. Ros opened the double doors leading into the meeting room and addressed the assembled crowd of bit-part actors and aspiring extras:

"If you'd like to come this way gentlemen."

A few looked bemused who obviously hadn't been fully briefed as to what they were doing for this particular location shot and couldn't work out why there were no cameras or lighting rigs set up for filming; the majority followed along, eager to prove that they had the talent and faces that were just waiting to be discovered. Harry watched them parade through the tall panelled doors with distaste:

"Such a collection of shallow, over-ambitious limited individuals, it really is almost impossible to distinguish them from the real thing."

"I take it you don't like actors any more than you like politicians Harry?"

"On the contrary. I much prefer actors, at least their self-serving personal ambition and over-sized egos can be channelled to provide something that resembles entertainment; although I will admit I am always struck by the common characteristics of the two professions: _"A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."_

Adam smiled broadly at Harry and wondered how much of the invective levelled against politicians was actually believed and how much was just part of the bravura of an external mask intended to shield the more vulnerable and sensitive man from closer scrutiny.

Harry interrupted his reverie:

"Right, the decoy ducks are in position so now we await the attack, if indeed there is to be an attack. Is everyone in position?"

"Yes, the military techies are ready in their surveillance lorry and they will contact us as soon as anything is picked up and the special forces with all the necessary anti-missile equipment and jamming devices are situated in the copse of woods to the north of the building."

At that moment Adam's intercom buzzed in his ear whilst almost immediately Harry's phone rang warning of a red flash alert.

"Hello yes Zaf, what's happening? Where? Are they sure? Well cut off all exits and make sure that they take them alive. We've got to find the rest of the cell."

Adam spun round to Harry to tell him about developments, but Harry, his eyes widened in alarm, held up a warning hand to him to be quiet:

"Are there casualties? Are you sure you're ok? What more? Where? This is obviously a well co-ordinated multi-point attack. How many targets have been confirmed? Ok, are your communications still functioning? Good well stay there with Malcolm and liase with the Met and Special Branch, make sure you're kept fully updated. I'll get a helicopter to bring me back. I should be there within half an hour."

Harry rang off and immediately spoke into his intercom:

"I want a helicopter ready for takeoff in three minutes. I'll confirm the destination when we are airborne."

Adam., no longer able to contain his anxiety broke in:

"What's happened Harry?"

Harry's voice was terse but level as he responded:

"There have been multiple explosions in central London; what appear to be rocket attacks although that hasn't as yet been confirmed. Targets include the Terminal 1 runway at Heathrow, the grounds of Windsor Castle, the Morgan Stanley HQ in the City and Thames House."

Adam stared at him momentarily speechless until the adrenalin kicked in:

"Christ. Thames House? Is anyone hurt?"

"As far as Ruth can tell, no. The rocket hit the roof and some ceilings are down, but HR and personnel are up on the top floors and most of their staff were out irritating other departments so thankfully if there are any casualties they will be few."

"What about the other targets?"

"Again, initial reports suggest minimal injuries. Most of the damage is structural and even then not as much as you would expect, nothing as bad as the Buckingham Palace attack. I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but we've got to stop this before it gets out of control."

"Well, we have some goods news at this end at least. Guidance lock-on was detected from a site about 2 miles from here in a country park, but so far no rockets have actually been launched. Special forces have closed off all exits and are sweeping the area to try and locate the launch site."

"Good. Keep me informed – I'm going back to assess the situation at Thames House and to co-ordinate the Intelligence response. I'll take Ros with me; you and Zaf stay here until Surrey's answer to Hezbulah have been apprehended. Anyone captured I want answers PDQ , we'll worry about the Geneva Convention later."

Adam nodded curtly that he understood the implications of Harry's instructions and hurrying out to the waiting Lexus drove off at speed, scattering gravel onto the immaculately cultivated lawn. Minutes later the police helicopter that was waiting on standby with it's blades swishing noisily through the air rose in an ungainly lurch as it defied gravity and bore Harry rapidly up in a northerly direction towards the urban sprawl of central London.

Landing on the rooftop of an adjacent building, Harry literally ran from the helicopter down through to the lifts and then from the ground floor across the road towards Thames House with Ros in hot pursuit. The entrance to the building was littered with rubble and debris, but the main fabric still appeared to be intact and once inside all appeared normal, apart from the ant-like activity of the milling crowds who had been brought down from the upper storeys of the building but not allowed to leave for fear of further attacks. Harry pushed his way impatiently through the throng and took the steps two at a time as he made his way down the stairs. The pods did not open to the usual code and he had to resort to banging on the glass door to gain the attention of a passing clerk who alerted Malcolm to activate the override.

"Right Malcolm, what updates do you have?"

Malcolm struggled to keep abreast of Harry as he strode across the Grid and through the door of his office.

"Em, well there were several baggage handlers injured at Heathrow, but not seriously and several dozen people taken to hospital from the explosion in the city, er mostly with injuries from flying glass but again no fatalities as far as I can gather."

At that moment a pale-faced agitated Ruth flew in through the open door.

"Harry. Adam has just been on the phone. They've caught two men with a rocket launcher and two unfired rockets at Grassington Country Park. It sounds from the description that they are the two Pakistanis. Adam says that it looks as though they were trying to launch the rockets but had missed out a vital step in the sequence and so the launch had failed.

"Good. Tell him to bring them back to Thames House. Yes I know before you say anything that it should be Paddington Green, but it's vital that no time is lost on the niceties of established procedure."

Ruth shot him a piercing glance

"I thought you once said that you liked the niceties, they save us from tyranny? We can't just interrogate without rules or limits to what we can do otherwise we're no better than they are."

Harry's expression darkened at the implied criticism

"That's precisely what we are. We're trying to save lives not destroy them."

"Yes but Oliver Mace uses the same argument to sanction indiscriminate abuse of human rights in the name of national security. It's a slippery slope Harry, are you sure we have the right to embark on it?"

Harry rubbed his creased forehead with his hand as once again he felt intellectually forced into a corner by the penetrating intelligence of Ruth's argument

"It's precisely these qualms of conscience that we don't have time for. At any minute the remaining members of this cell could unleash further death and mayhem on London. I'm happy to argue the finer philosophical points of the conflict of interest between morality and national security on another occasion Ruth, right now we need to identify the extent of the cell as soon as possible and locate the remaining terrorists. Malcolm, I need updated status reports on the situation at each of the target sites in terms of casualties, structural damage and any evidence that has been found and bring Adam up to speed on them when he gets back. Ruth, I want you to focus on monitoring the stock market. I want to know immediately any large-scale share purchases take place."

Ruth with a subdued mutinous expression on her face nodded her agreement and moved to follow Malcolm thorough the door when Harry caused her to hesitate:

"Ruth …" his voice was suddenly soft and low as he walked over to stand in front of her and barred her exit

"I don't want to argue with you Ruth and I appreciate the moral morass that always surrounds these situations but this is the job we do. I have to make decisions and make judgements that are always shades of grey. The truth is there is no simple line in the sand these days, no absolute black and white morality, the important thing is to still keep in mind that there is still the obligation to look for one and to draw new ones if necessary."

Ruth smiled back her assent that Harry was trying to mend fences and reassure her that he was still 'one of the good guys' but she was still determined to stick to her view:

"I appreciate that Harry, but surely the whole point of lines in the sand is that they are immovable. If you start to equivocate about moral absolutes then it invites everyone to follow their own moral codes with equal validity and you end up with so many lines in the sand that they are meaningless."

Harry, wisely concluding that Ruth was not going to back down nor was he likely to win his argument any time soon decided to change tack:

"Anyway are you sure you're all right?"

As he said this his voice dropped lower and he took a step closer to her , his hand briefly stroking her arm.

"I'm fine Harry. All we felt down here was a loud bang and then vibrations."

"Well you don't look fine, you're very pale."

Harry raised his arm to pat her shoulder in a familiar reassuring gesture, but thought better of it and instead stroked the side of her head gently.

"Please don't fuss. The whole of London is under terrorist attack and you're worried that I'm not as rosy-cheeked as a Devon milkmaid."

"I'm concerned about you Ruth. I can't have my best analyst collapsing in the middle of a vital op can I? Get a hot drink and something to eat and sit down for a few minutes."

Ruth smiled back at him and reaching up caressed the broad hand that was stroking her face.

"Honestly Harry I'm fine, but if it makes you feel any better I'll tuck into the contents of the vending machine when I get the opportunity."

He desperately wanted to take her into his arms and express his relief that she hadn't been hurt in the attack; she desperately wanted to return his gesture and stroke his soft cheeks and tell him how much she loved him and was relieved in turn that he had not been hurt at Grassington Hall. Instead both smiled awkwardly at each other and turned away to their allotted tasks.


	10. Chapter 10

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 10**_

_**The Interrogation Room**_

The intimidating room, its walls encased in dull grey metal cladding like some science fiction fantasy, was Spartan; devoid of decorative touches and empty apart from a table and three chairs of plain utilitarian design. Huddled on one of the chairs was a man in his late twenties of Middle Eastern appearance with thick black curly hair. His clean-shaven face had assumed an expression of muted defiance, although his eyes betraying the state of mind behind the bravura were filled with fear and anxiety.

In the adjacent room Zaf prepared himself mentally for the task that lay ahead. He was devoted to his job and would willingly have followed Adam and Harry into hell and back without a moment's hesitation, but this was different. He was not naïve, he realised that questionable acts would have to sometimes be performed in the name of security, perhaps even of justice, but given the choice, he would far rather face overwhelming odds armed with a baseball bat or put himself in harms way in a terrorist situation rather than face what was now being asked of him. He glanced briefly at the tall, cool and collected figure standing next to him. Adam might give the impression of being one of the lads – a smooth laid-back charmer with a warm smile and a twinkle in his eye; but his colleagues knew that a darker, ruthless persona lay beneath the handsome exterior. Adam had endured torture and was equally prepared to dole it out without a second thought if the occasion demanded. Zaf might like to give the impression of being a hard nut, but he was squeamish at the thought of deliberately inflicting pain on another human being who was unable to defend him or herself. Adam he knew had a different perspective. He was more able to compartmentalise his emotions – if it were expedient and necessary to torture a suspect then he would not shrink from being directly involved in the process. Harry tended to distance himself from such activities for political reasons, but Zaf knew that if pressed, his boss would prove every bit as ruthless and determined as Adam.

Zaf let out a deep breath and nervously straightening his tie, followed Adam through the door into the Interrogation Room. He stood by the wall whilst Adam took a seat at the table opposite to the prisoner.

"You are Khalid Siddiqi of 12 Laburnum Drive, East Finchley?"

Silence.

"Look, I don't have time to arse around with you. This is not a cell in some comfortable English police station where you get tea and biscuits and a phone call. You have been brought here to provide answers. Now we, as they say in all the best films, can either do this the easy way or the hard way and believe me you don't want to find out what my hard way is."

The man kept his eyes on the table and his fists clenched in his lap. In one swift movement Adam got up from his chair and positioning himself behind the man, roughly wrenched his arms back and handcuffed them together behind the chair. He then brought a thin wire out of his pocket and placed it round the man's neck, attaching the loose ends to the metal handcuffs.

"Right; there is now a wire at your throat so sharp that any slight movement will cause it to start slicing through your flesh like this …"

Adam brought out another wire and holding it up in front of the man, whose upturned face was frozen into a rictus of fear, brought it slowly across his own index finger, smiling as the flesh sprung apart and blood spurted out. He leaned down so that his face was close to the man's ear:

"Left tied like this long enough, your muscles will start to spasm and the wire will tighten and slice into your throat; cutting through first ligaments and capillaries and then larger blood vessels; but the nerves are further back so it will be a while before the pain or the sensation of ripping flesh will stop. Have you ever felt your flesh being torn slowly Khalid? Believe me, it's very unpleasant. Not as unpleasant of course as being blown apart by a rocket but still unpleasant and of course much ….. much ….. slower."

The man swallowed nervously and the slight movement was enough to cause the wire to graze the stretched skin of his throat and blood oozed out from the thin red line that ran horizontally across his exposed flesh. The man's eyes widened in panic as he felt the sting of the metal slicing into him. Adam smiled down at him, his eyes ice-cold:

"I think it's time we speeded things up."

He placed his hands on the man's shoulders and tilted him backwards. With the shift in weight the metal wire dug deeper into the man's flesh and the drip of blood became a steady trickle. Adam leaned his head down so that his lips were level with the man's ear:

"If I accidentally let go of this chair the momentum will cause the wire to slice through at least thirty per cent of your neck, but you will still be alive, but not for long. It will take about forty minutes for sufficient blood to haemorrhage out for you to drift into unconsciousness and then death. I think this is a good moment for you to consider your options."

Adam wedged the man's knees against the table to stabilise the tilted chair and sat down facing the prisoner across the table, his eyes focused on Khalid Siddiqi as he waited for any sign of weakness or gesture that would suggest his tactic of intimidation had paid off.

Harry watched the proceedings through the 2-way glass, his expression anxious and focused. They had to get answers and fast, but torture didn't necessarily yield accurate information: victims of torture routinely gave their torturers what they thought they wanted to hear rather than the truth and they certainly would not be any further forward if the man ended up maimed or even dead and neither did he relish the prospect of explaining to Special Branch how their prisoner had come to be garrotted in the basement of Thames House. He started as he felt a hand softly stroke the back of his neck and fingers caress the curls of hair that resisted all efforts to flatten them. Reaching up he caught the hand and bringing it round he kissed the open palm in a tender gesture of affection, whilst not taking his eyes away from the brutal scene in front of him. The kiss was only momentary however, as the feel of small bony fingers and long fingernails alerted Harry to the fact that it was not (as he had imagined) Ruth's hand that had been touching him. Harry's grip on the interloper tightened and he flicked the hand away dismissively from his face.

"What the hell are you doing down here Catherine?"

Catherine Palmerston enjoying both the sensation of Harry's soft moist lips on her flesh and the obvious embarrassment she had caused him, laughed throatily:

"Oh the same as you I imagine Harry, admiring a master at work. If you're enjoying the idea of being tied up and tortured I'm sure we could come to some mutually beneficial arrangement."

"That is below even your idea of the acceptable Catherine. Anyway, to repeat what I've told you before – leave me alone."

"Don't be a hypocrite Harry. I can see you're not adverse to being touched up at work; it just depends on whose hands are doing the touching."

Harry scowled. It wasn't like him to be so easily caught out. In fact the gesture of intimacy had been unconscious, instinctual. If he had stopped to think about it, he would have realised that Ruth would not make such a familiar demonstration of affection in public and certainly not where her colleagues might easily observe her.

"Do you have any specific reason to be here? This is a restricted area."

"Yes actually I do. I've found out same more information from Prince Hassim."

"And?"

"It seems your vestal virgin's idea of a connection with the drug cartels is correct. That group Ruth identified has recently been shipping high velocity weapons and surface to air missiles, in addition to their usual cocktail of narcotics. They come into Marseille from the southern Urals and Lebanon and are then taken overland to Lisbon and hidden in the baggage compartment of the cruise ships."

"So the arms are not coming through the same route as the heroin?"

"No, they are sourced from different areas and are only transferred to the buyers in Marseille. Also the arms are not brought by small boats, but left on the cruise ships until they're docked and then somehow removed. The Prince wasn't sure of all the details, but he did say that there were regular consignments over the past 12 months, so the rockets for this current attack are not the only ones to have been brought in."

"Oh great. So there could be hundreds of the bloody things being passed around every crackpot with a grievance and delusions of grandeur. This supply chain has got to be broken. Give this information to Special Branch and Customs and tell them to get off their backsides and do what they're paid to do. Well done Catherine, I hope this information didn't cost us too much?"

"Oh cheap at the price. I organised a membership of the Garrick Club for our prince – apparently he is not only a mediocre arms dealer, but also an aspiring thespian."

Despite his dislike for Catherine, Harry had to smile as he shook his head in disbelief:

"Your ability to find a man's weak spot and exploit it has to be commended Catherine."

Catherine, willing to capitalise on the slightest encouragement moved closer to Harry and murmured

"Believe me Harry in your case exploiting a weak spot would be an unadulterated pleasure."

The word 'unadulterated' was breathed huskily into his ear as she simultaneously rubbed her hand up the inside of his thigh.

Harry's icy tones cut short Catherine Palmerston's assault

"Please keep your seduction techniques for the op Catherine – when I need a practical demonstration I'll ask for it."

Catherine shrugged her shoulders and raising her eyebrows suggestively left the room with the parting shot:

"Anytime. You just have to whistle. You do know how to whistle don't you Harry? You just …."

Harry interrupted her impatiently:

"Yes, thank you Catherine, we don't have the time to act out iconic film scenes. Get onto Special Branch as you've been instructed."

As Catherine disappeared Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief. He always felt uncomfortable dealing with dominating women who overstepped the mark and challenged him either intellectually or physically: Tess, Juliet, Ros, Catherine, all had put him on the back foot; even Ruth in her more determined moments had made him feel ill at ease. It was not that he disliked confrontation, indeed he would face down any opponent with bull-dog resolve and in fact relished a good scrap; but where women were concerned there was a residual old-fashioned sense of respect for the female sex that made him hesitate to go for a full gloves-off fight to the death. In the past Juliet and Tess had both accused him of being a male chauvinist, but he didn't agree. He supported women in the work place and did not feel challenged per se by women in more senior positions; it was not working with them on equal terms that was the problem but rather dealing with them as opponents that made him feel disconcerted and hesitant. There was also the fact that in terms of personal relationships with the opposite sex Harry preferred to be in the driving seat. Feminism was all very well in terms of equality of opportunity, but when it came to courtship he still believed he should be the one who made the initial advance, booked the dinner table and selected the wine and whether he would admit it or not, these traditional values coloured his attitude to his female colleagues. If Adam challenged his orders he would forcibly argue his reasons, if his authority was threatened by outsiders like Oliver Mace or Guy Facer, he would be ferocious and ruthless in counter-attack; if on the other hand, he was criticised or questioned by Juliet or Ros, his response was to become defensive or morose. Catherine recognised this fallibility and was using it to her advantage. She would challenge him at every opportunity and watch his obvious discomfort with amusement and triumph. Harry sighed again as he refocused his attention on the interrogation being conducted in the adjacent room. Life in the Security Service before Germaine Greer might have been less egalitarian but at least in the bastions of male privilege that were MI5 and MI6 in the 1950's you would have been marginally less likely to have had your thigh fondled as part of a standard debriefing!

_**Interrogation Room**_

Whilst Harry had been distracted by Catherine Palmerston's charm offensive Adam had continued to ratchet up the pressure on the prisoner. Zaf watched the proceedings with increasing discomfort and alarm. Not only did Adam look capable of crossing the line in terms of what was and was not permissible in the interrogation process, he did not appear aware that there were limits – his eyes were cold and his voice detached and icy in tone. Zaf frowned and glanced towards the glass behind which he knew Harry would be watching.. It was one thing to give the impression that you were prepared to stop at nothing, it was another matter altogether to actually be in that frame of mind and Zaf did not trust that the tall lean figure who was at that moment threatening and taunting the terrified captive was capable of making the crucial distinction.

If questioned, Harry would probably have shared Zaf's anxieties about Adam, but he had more detachment and experience than his young field officer and knew that instability and ruthlessness in others could be harnessed in certain situations to achieve results, morally ambivalent as such a manipulation might be. They needed answers out of Khalid Siddiqi and fast and Adam was capable of getting them, albeit with unorthodox not to say questionable methods. Hopefully the information they sought could be obtained without lasting physical harm to the prisoner. What impact the exercise of such tactics could have on the perpetrator's psyche was more problematic, but Harry acknowledged to himself that Adam was already damaged goods psychologically speaking: he had endured hellish torture himself in Syria, he had witnessed and failed to prevent the death of his wife and he had only narrowly survived the impact of a high velocity bullet. The cracks had been apparent for some time, this present situation was not going to be a pivotal moment; in fact on the contrary, it might even be cathartic. Harry hurriedly dismissed the idea from his mind – the torture of a prisoner as a means of positive therapy for a mentally fragile operative was certainly not an acceptable concept to any right-minded individual and he winced at the thought of what Ruth would have to say about the idea.

Adam was not hampered by the reservations that preoccupied Zaf and Harry. He had a goal and saw the means of achieving it no matter what resistance was offered by the prisoner. Terrorists and suicide bombers should not be simply dismissed as cowards. Deluded and pitiless maybe, but in their own fanatic twisted way, brave. It took guts to instigate your own violent death. Every man however had his limit: the point at which instinctive fear and the desire for self-preservation overcame doctrinal aims. It was one thing to steed yourself to press the button and blow yourself to smithereens along with whatever other poor sods were close enough to be taken with you and it was quite another to face protracted agony and as all in Adam's position had been trained to know fear was the key to successful interrogations. It was a combination of pain and the fear of future pain that would lead to a collapse of resolution. Some were trained better than others to withstand torture, some were mentally or physically more resilient; but sooner or later everyone had their breaking point and Adam was determined that this interrogation would be short if not sweet.

What Adam did not know was that Khalid Siddiqi and his fellow captive conspirator were not true terrorists. Their only fundamental belief was in their own personal advancement. Khalid was not holding out because of some brain-washed belief in jihad against non-believers, but because he still hoped to be able to fulfil his contract to the extent of being able to claim his $500,000 payment and more particularly he feared what Mustafa Zahir Shah might do to him if he started spouting details of the plot. Khalid focused his eyes on a joint in the ceiling tiles to stop himself from swaying, although he could already feel his legs begin to tremble with the effort of keeping his weight balanced on the propped chair. His heart rate increased as out of the corner of his peripheral vision he saw the MI5 officer approaching again.

"I always think a medieval torture would be the most appropriate response to a medieval ideology. Forget all these hi tec rockets and explosives, all you need is a sharp knife. A few hundred years ago there were a similar group of misguided individuals in this country who decided in the name of religion to try and blow up the King and Parliament just like you and just like you they failed. There were no encumbrances of human rights or respect for religious diversity back then; the prisoners were hung until they were almost dead, cut down and stretched on a rack until most of the bones in their bodies were broken, their stomachs were sliced open and their entrails pulled out and held up to them. Still just alive they were then slowly sawn in quarters and their bodies left to rot. Only the very lucky conspirators got to be burnt. We have a strong sense of history in this country Khalid, so we still commemorate the occasion by setting fire to an effigy of the ringleader of the conspiracy. I always think traditions are so important don't you?"

At that moment Adam opened a cigarette lighter he was holding and after pouring an amount of lighter fluid on the man's trousers, flicked the spark on the lighter and lowered a steady flame towards the ankles of the bound prisoner, watched by the bulging eyes of the petrified victim. Khalid Siddiqi let out a scream of fear as he felt the flame burn his bare skin and his involuntary twitch caused the wire to slice further into his neck.

"Alright, alright" he whispered frantically "I'll tell you."

_**A Terraced Street, Acton.**_

_Imagine the following in a series of brief fast-moving scenes:_

Armed police in black clothing and bullet-proof vests surround a modest Victorian terraced house, one of hundreds of similar terraced houses found in unassuming rows down the long snaking suburban streets of Acton. Tear gas canisters are thrown in through ground floor windows and rapid and intense gunfire is heard, followed by an explosion that tears apart the first floor of the building and ensures that at least one of the so-called terrorist group meets a true martyr's end. Fortunately despite some blast injuries to the advance party, the only other victim of Zahir Shah's sacrifice is an arthritic cat which had taken refuge under the bed. The man known as Jafar surrenders with some relief. He had been increasingly nervous of the erratic and lethal plans that his fanatical co-plotter had been hatching for their 'ultimate sacrifice' and certainly he will not need to be introduced to Adam's powers of persuasion to sing like a canary.

As a consequence of Jafar's co-operation a number of senior figures in both Whitehall and the City are left with red faces after being identified as peripheral supporters of the scam whilst the three financiers directly involved along with a group of eight banking officials are charged with conspiracy to defraud and to cause explosions.

The images of the City fat cats in their expensive suits being led away and bundled into waiting police cars sends a frisson of pleasure through many who watch the events on television.

A group of colleagues huddle together on the Grid to watch the events being reported on the BBC News. Ruth sits at her desk with Adam leaning over her shoulder, Zaf perching on the corner, Malcolm standing behind him, Jo flanking Zaf and Ros positioned at a distance from the others. The newsreader intones:

" AT 5 this afternoon armed police raided a house in Acton and arrested one man. A second man detonated an explosive device and is reported to be dead. Several officers were slightly injured in the explosion. Police have now sealed off the area and evacuated residents. It is believed these arrests are in connection with today's attacks on targets in central London including the City and Heathrow and also the rocket attack on Buckingham Palace yesterday which is believed to be the work of the same terrorist group. It is also reported that a number of senior figures in the financial world are being held for questioning….."

"Well done everyone. I think this calls for a celebratory drink at the George."

Adam's voice is bright and cheerful but the hands that grip the back of Ruth's chair are white at the knuckles and his eyes betray exhaustion and tension. The only figure missing from the group of friends and colleagues who don their coats and head through the pods is Harry.

_**Thames Embankment**_

In the lengthening shadows of evening Harry wrapped up in his velvet-collared overcoat leaned over the wall and stared into the dark sludgy currents below. Beside him stood a tall, slightly stooping figure with his back to the river, whose shrewd rat-like eyes scanned the surrounding area.

"You were willing to attack the very fabric of British Society and cause umpteen innocent deaths. What the hell for Oliver? Money?"

"Don't be gross Harry. I leave money-grubbing to our city friends."

"Well what then?"

"Oh I don't know. Influence – a bigger desk."

"Oh for God's sake Oliver. Have you totally taken leave of your senses?"

"Well perhaps on reflection I was mistaken."

"Mistaken? 7 people dead; a floor of Buckingham Palace badly damaged; likewise a bank, Thames House and a runway at Heathrow and God knows how many more casualties averted at Grassington. Is there nothing you won't stoop to Oliver to further your own ends?"

"Buckingham Palace was unfortunate I agree, but it was a mistake. It's what comes of hiring fanatics to do a clandestine operation. The intention was just to create panic. It might even have done the country a favour, given a wake up call for the need for greater vigilance."

"Oh Pleeeese Oliver, don't let's mask this sordid business with the fig leaf of altruism. You conspired against the monarch, the government and the financial institutions of this country. Your head will be on the block for this and in fact you should be brought up on a charge of treason."

Oliver Mace smirked and looked across at Harry's stern profile.

"You can't prove anything Harry believe me. Besides which, no one wants a bigger scandal than there is already. Wicked terrorist conspiracy foiled by brave security forces, mendacious bankers put behind bars: all's right with the world; why rock the boat and wash dirty linen in public?"

Harry's eyes narrowed in anger.

"Don't be so confident Oliver, there are certain things even you can't get away with. You groomed Jafar for two years, there will be a trail that leads him back to you and I intend to find it."

Mace turned round towards Harry and patted him patronisingly on the back

"You do that Harry. In the meantime I suggest, no I insist you take a short holiday. All this excitement has quite worn you out – you've become delusional."

Mace snorted with amused pleasure at his own wit and turning his back on Harry walked rapidly away. Harry remained and leaning against the wall, he lifted his gaze to the familiar London skyline that lay before him defined against the gathering clouds. Mace might be right, he would find it difficult to incriminate his slippery opponent but it didn't mean he wouldn't have a damn good try. He smiled a wry crooked smile to himself and continued to stare out at the city whose security once more had been defended by the dedication and talent of his team and a determination to defend the values that they had all sworn to uphold.

_**Keep tuning in folks – the next chapter will be the Bridget Jones-esque mini break – will Catherine Palmerston finally be put in her place and will that place be in Harry's bed? To find out leave reviews for this chapter & I might be encouraged to post chapter 11 soon!!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 11**_

**_The Grid_**

Exhaustion etched into her features, Ruth wearily ploughed through the vertiginous pile of files that tottered at the side of her desk and threatened to engulf her at any moment. It was the end of a particularly fraught operation and whilst the others were still enjoying some well-earned R&R at _The_ _George_ she had decided to come back to the Grid and tackle at least part of the overdue paperwork before the demands of the next crisis hit her. In truth she longed for a long hot bath, a large glass of Australian plonk and her feet up in front of a nostalgic film but none of those was going to shrink the mountain of files and with a sigh she dropped yet another manila envelope into the wire trolley that stood in permanent attendance at the side of her desk.

"It's time you packed this in and headed home. That's an order."

Ruth smiled her appreciation at Harry's concern without lifting her eyes from the typed sheets in front of her.

"_Physician heal thyself" – _if work can wait why have you come back to the office?"

"I'm the one paid to be in charge, that means I get to turn the lights out."

"I think you've got this wrong, in most Civil Service departments it's the juniors who turn out the lights."

"Oh that's alright then I'm not a civil servant. Anyway pleasant as this conversation is, I've come out of my glass citadel for something specific."

Ruth looked up at him with a questioning expression.

"If you recall a certain recent meeting in which you retreated to a childhood fantasy of sunlit gardens and buzzing bees you agreed that we might retrace the journey back to Arcadia together."

"Yes" replied Ruth guardedly " at some unspecified time in the future."

Harry cleared his throat nervously.

"Yes well I thought that given the trauma of the last week and given that Oliver Mace rather than falling on his sword has bent the DG's ear to agree to send me on compulsory leave for a few days that we might search for Arcadia sooner rather than later, so I've booked a mini-break weekend."

Ruth's eyes widened in astonishment as she stared up at him:

"A mini break? You and I? That's very presumptuous of you Harry, a lot more presumptuous than booking a dinner table without asking me. What makes you think I want to go away with you?"

Harry smiled back at her with his woebegone little-boy-lost expression that was guaranteed to melt any resolve she might have to turn him down. He had never been very adept at the dating game and he was certainly out of practice these days but it was his very vulnerablilty and lack of confidence that appealed to Ruth.

"Well, I'll still go. God knows I could do with a break from here and I suppose I could always ring Catherine Palmerston."

Ruth grimaced

"That's not funny Harry, even by your abysmal efforts at humour. Well don't worry. I'm prepared to save you from such a fate worse than death but with certain provisos. One, I don't care what lengths you go to, I do not want this to become common knowledge. Two, I'd like my own room."

"Of course"

Ruth held up her hand to silence him:

"Let me finish Harry. I'm not naïve enough to think that our previous intimate encounters won't lead to something on a weekend away, but I don't want to go there presuming it as inevitable and also I'd like my own private space."

"What do I have to do to convince you Ruth that tempting and beautiful as it is, I'm not after your body but the complete package and whether it comes wrapped in my duvet is not the main consideration.."

"So where are we going and when?"

"The location is I'm afraid confidential – purely on a need-to-know basis but be prepared to leave on Friday evening."

"You can take this whole spy thing a little too far Harry. I need to know where we are going, so that I can pack appropriate clothes – hiking in the Highlands is not the same requirement as a Spa hotel in Buckinghamshire or indeed a youth hostel in Cornwall (the mental image of Harry in his immaculate Turnbull & Asser shirts and bespoke suits bunking up in the best that the YHA could offer made it difficult for her to keep a straight face) so could you please be more specific."

"Alright. Nothing outward bound, although I will store that idea away for another occasion. Um, Home Counties, country walks but also the need to dress more formally. Is that helpful?"

"Yes, but not totally – formal as in another Buckingham Palace reception or formal as in a clean pair of jeans? Will we be sitting down to a six course silver service banquet or chicken and chips at the local pub?"

"Somewhere inbetween the two but I'm not going to divulge any more."

Ruth's eyes shone with mischief:

"So it looks as though I'm going to have to do some additional research?"

"You dare go digging Ms Evershed and your coach will turn into a pumpkin."

Ruth grinned up at him unrepentant:

"It might be worth it if my Prince Charming has to buy me a new pair of shoes."

Harry longed to lean down and kiss the voluptuous full lips that were pursed together in a cheeky smile but aware of the CCTV cameras dotted around the Grid, he had to be satisfied with a slight smile in return as he concluded:

"So that's settled then. One pair of shoes in return for no undercover investigation. We'll leave on Friday evening as soon as we can both slip away. I'll go home and then pick you up from your house. Hopefully we can be on the road by seven but as always it will be in the lap of the Gods."

Ruth nodded her assent but her mind was in turmoil. A mini break with Harry? Suddenly it was serious. It was one thing to spend all her spare waking moments and most of her nights dreaming about Harry and fantasising about scenarios in which they kissed and made love, but suddenly it was threatening to become a reality and she didn't know if she could deal with it. On the one hand she could not wait to spend time with him away from the Grid, discover more about the private man and perhaps fulfil the promise that their few illicit moments of intimacy had suggested; but on the other hand what if they didn't get on either emotionally or physically? – chemistry was one thing, compatibility another.

Ruth sat on at her desk intellectually dithering, her thoughts scudding across her expressive face like clouds in a Spring sky whilst Harry watched her helplessly from the vantage point of his desk. He knew the doubts that were going through her mind, after knowing her for so long he could usually predict her moods; but prediction did not always bring with it comprehension: she continued to mystify and occasionally exasperate him. Harry was a guarded, cautious man who however usually acted with certainty once his mind was made up. He never saw the point of vacillating, once a course of action had been decided on it should be pursued with determination and focus. Ruth on the other hand had a completely different mind set. She tended to act impulsively, rush into situations without thinking and then be beset with regrets and indecision. Harry smiled to himself: the determinist versus the vacillator, head versus heart, it would seem to be a relationship doomed to failure and yet he had never met anyone he felt more compatible with, no one more in harmony with his moral values, his interests, his view on life. He may not always understand Ruth, but she was without doubt the love of his life and he was prepared to play the long game of wait and see to ensure that she would be a permanent fixture of his future.

**_Departure _**

At 6.45 precisely Harry's sleek discreet black Audi drew up outside Ruth's house. He got out dressed in grey chords and an open necked pale blue shirt in a thick cotton twill that was set off by heavy gold cufflinks. The knock at the door brought Ruth hastening down the stairs, nearly breaking her neck tripping over the cat that was concealed beneath the bottom tread. She opened the door breathlessly:

"Hi, er come in. I won't be a minute. I'm just fighting a losing battle trying to fasten down the lid of my case. Er, come through, would you like a drink?"

"Just a tonic water. I'll help myself. Do you need help?"

"Oh no. No I'll be fine. There are glasses in the top cupboard. I'll be two minutes."

Harry helped himself to a tonic and cast his eyes around Ruth's living room. He had been inside Ruth's house on several occasions, but never when he'd had the opportunity to really absorb a sense of the taste and interests of it's owner. Spooks were trained to heighten their observational skills so that they could recall small details of every situation that might be of relevance in the future and people's houses provided not only a wealth of circumstantial detail but also an intimate guide to lifestyle and aspirations. So by the time he heard the sound of Ruth's case being banged down the stairs, Harry had already taken in the subtle décor, the Middle Eastern metal and ceramic artefacts, the family photographs, the extensive and wide-ranging CD and DVD collection and the contents of the floor to ceiling bookshelves on which were jammed a higgledy piggledy collection of hard and soft back books ranging in topics from medicine, astronomy and music through to anthropology and architecture. The vast majority however were art books, foreign and classical language books and literally hundreds of drama and poetry books and novels of all periods and origins: Kafka jostled for shelf space with Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Elizabeth Gaskill, William Faulkner, Proust, Aristotle and A S Byatt.

Harry reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the life history that lay revealed before him and moved swiftly to the doorway

"Here let me help you"

"No I'm fine"

"Don't be such a stubborn old mule."

Ruth's eyes widened in disbelief at what he had said as she yanked the unwieldy case down the last two stairs

"Old … mule?"

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed by his choice of words.

"Well no. Perhaps not mule and certainly not old, it's just an expression."

"Well maybe in your circle of acquaintances but certainly not mine and all I can say is that if Casanova went round calling his lovers old mules then his tally wouldn't have been nearly so impressive"

Ruth started to giggle. How typical of Harry to invite someone he cared for on a romantic weekend and then start it off by inadvertently insulting them.

"Oh, so you don't think I have the makings of a successful lover then Ruth?"

Harry's voice was suddenly sensual and provocative in tone as he advanced closer to her. Ruth flustered grabbed her suitcase and moved towards the door.

"No I didn't say that, but I certainly think your chat-up lines could do with polishing up."

Harry smiled at her with an expression somewhere between sardonic and downright 'X' rated as he replied

"I'll just have to use this weekend to polish up my rough edges."

Ruth, deciding that it was high time she made for more neutral ground reached out for the front door handle, but the task of trying to negotiate both the door and the cumbersome bag with it's recalcitrant handle at the same time as preventing Fidget from making a break for freedom between her legs, proved too much for her and she fell forward through the open door and would have ended in an ignominious heap on top of a bed of tulips if strong arms had not caught her and held her firmly round the waist whilst Fidget hightailed it up the path and out of sight.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Harry, clumsy oaf rather than old mule I'm afraid."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes fine – humiliated rather than hurt."

Harry's arms remained around her waist and she realised that he had manoeuvred round the obstacle of her battered suitcase and his face was now only inches from hers and as always in such moments of uncertainty Ruth began to babble

"I'm afraid Fidget is off to find her paramour unless we launch a cat hunt and lord knows how long that would take, so I'll just have to face up to another family of kittens. Lord knows what I'll do about homes for them it took me absolutely ages to find the last ones homes and in fact that's where Socrates comes from, I mean the cat of course not the philosopher, er Socrates is my other cat you see, the fluffy grey one with the marmalade streak. I was going to call him Catullus, er Socrates that is, but I thought it would be a bit tiresome to live with a pun on a long-term basis so I abandoned the idea……"

Harry smiled at her. He had never known anyone who could babble with such fluency as Ruth, his heart constricted with intense emotion as he looked down on her beautiful agitated face as she sought in vain to avoid his intense gaze and unable to resist the opportunity presented by her stumble, cupped her face with his hand and brought his lips down on hers; closing his eyes as he felt a tingle of electricity as he made contact with their palpable softness. Lifting his mouth away fractionally Harry opened his lips to reconnect with hers with a more open and sensual touch. The voluptuous excess of his full pout met the trembling rosebud of her lips and melted insistently into them, kneading and moulding his flesh to hers until neither could sense where one ended and the other began. A momentary pause allowed Ruth to remonstrate

"Harry, this is too public we'll be seen."

"His response was to murmur "Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque" in her ear (Catullus: "You ask Lesbia, how many kissings of you are for me enough and to spare") cupping her other cheek with his spare hand and sliding his tongue into her mouth impulsively. Ruth, not quite realising what she was doing cradled the back of his head as she lost herself to sensation and response.

Finally, reluctantly, Harry drew back and picked up Ruth's case.

"Good God Ruth what have you packed in here? Dismembered body parts?"

Ruth's eyes flashed at him in indignation:

"Well, perhaps if you had been more specific about where we are staying and what we are doing on this magical mystery tour then I wouldn't have had to bring so much."

"Do you know you're beautiful when you're angry?" purred an aroused Harry as he moved in for another assault

"I thought you wanted to make an early start, not hang around on my doorstep all evening entertaining the neighbours."

Harry sighed regretfully and gestured for her to lead the way. Ruth, having checked the front door was securely locked and her piece of paper in place, led the way up towards his car.

"Oh, not a Bentley convertible, I need not have brought my headscarf after all."

Harry stared at Ruth in puzzled astonishment and Ruth blushed as she realised that her escort had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and probably thought she was being rude about the pool Audi that was waiting for her.

"Sorry Harry ignore me I'm just being facetious, it's just a reference to a well known rom com , I forgot you need to be a female of 30 something to get the allusion."

"If your inferring that I'm an old codger out of touch with the modern world then in my defence I will say that 1) I certainly hope so and 2) my resemblance to Hugh Grant does not extend beyond booking mini-breaks and no matter how much I want to impress you I have no intention of growing a floppy fringe."

Ruth smiled as once again he caught her off guard. Just when she thought she had him neatly pigeon-holed he would come up with some unexpected revelation that undermined her judgement of him.

Harry stuffed Ruth's well-stuffed suitcase next to his discreet matching canvas and leather set of flight bag and suit carrier in the boot and sat forcefully behind the wheel whilst Ruth settled down into the padded luxury of the leather seats. After they had negotiated through the worst of the Friday night rush hour and were cruising down the A3 towards the green leafy suburbs of Surrey, Ruth gazed peacefully at Harry's profile: his features sensual and generous, his expression determined and his conversation light-hearted. She felt all the tension of the past few days seeping away as she physically and mentally relaxed and let her guard down. As she lent back with her eyes closed she could swear that almost imperceptibly her bottom was heating up and a tingling vibration was coursing round her nether regions …

"Harry, is it me or is this seat vibrating?"

"Oh sorry, yes. I must have switched it on when I changed the aircon, I'm sorry I'm not used to the layout of this model yet."

Ruth's eyes widened with incredulity:

"I don't believe this. You're not serious – it has vibrating seats? What on earth for or perhaps I shouldn't ask."

"Sexual release for frustrated executives – an interesting marketing idea Ruth, but no, I believe it's meant to stop back ache on long journeys."

Ruth snorted her disbelief at such decadence:

"And the fanny heater?"

"Ruth!"

"Well, it's all so middle-class affluence and gadgetry Harry not you at all."

He smiled back his appreciation of her pronouncement on his taste.

"Well it's a pool car, I don't influence what equipment it comes with. So what sort of car would you see me in Ruth?"

"Oh something elegant, understated and distinctive with perhaps a hint of the rebel: a Bristol perhaps or an old Jag."

Harry groaned "Why did I know comparisons with a certain silver-haired detective with a weakness for Wagner and alcohol were going to creep in."

"Wait a minute Harry, I haven't finished. Um, definitely something British – all this bespoke Saville Row tailoring has to have an appropriate setting, but also a hint of the unorthodox and flamboyant; so Establishment but nothing too brash, plenty of quality wood and a touch of the old-fashioned. I'll plumb for an E Type or an early Austin Martin or Lotus."

Ruth became carried away as she lapsed into Analyst mode and her eyes shone as her speech became rapid and animated.

"I hope being driven down in this petty bourgeois feat of German engineering hasn't shattered too many of your illusions Ruth?"

In her haste to reassure him Ruth failed to notice the gleam of humour in his eyes

" Oh no, I didn't mean to imply that you're being deficient in any way Harry. The Audi is er, very …." Here Ruth wracked her brain for an appropriate adjective that would be reassuring without being an obvious attempt to pander to his ego

"… practical."

"Wonderful. Damned with faint praise by La Belle Dame Sans Merci."

"That's unfair, I was trying to be diplomatic. Anyway your turn. What car would you envisage me driving?"

"One that carried a large warning on the back 'Keep your Distance, Liable to make Unexpected U Turns'."

Ruth slapped him lightly on the shoulder, but she know that he wasn't merely referring to her driving ability."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Alright, a Morris Minor or a Deux Cheveaux."

"So you see me as an aging hippie who holds up the traffic, oh good. I was worried you might be going to pigeon-hole me."

The remainder of the journey was spent in similar light-hearted exchanges. Harry endeavouring to put Ruth at her ease and Ruth pretending that he had succeeded. At just after 8.30 they turned off the A road they had been travelling and through a succession of narrow winding lanes. Ruth vaguely recognised the landscape – it was familiar to her from her childhood when she used to gaze out of the window of her parents' car, her stomach knotted in anticipation – much the same as she was now. Where were they heading and what would happen when they arrived there? The car slowed and Harry turned into a long gravel driveway that was flanked by an apparently unending avenue of lime trees. Whatever the destination it was discreet, there was no sign in blue and gold announcing this or that country hotel with an indecent number of gold stars and Michelin recommendations.

The avenue widened and the driveway swept round in front of a vast mansion in mellow brick with weather stone dressing. Ruth guessed the style to be Jacobean but with Victorian wings added at each end. In the dying light Ruth could see extravagant sloping lawns leading the eye into a breathtaking panoramic view of a large lake with the South Downs rising in the distance.

"This is beautiful Harry. How did you know about it?"

"You're not the only one to have connections with this area Ruth. My regiment was posted to a barracks near Lewes and I used to explore the countryside on my days off."

"Oh so we are both re-visiting the past then?"

"Yes and I would like to think also exploring our future."

Ruth unsure how to answer him hastily opened the door and jumped out. The conversation resumed as they lifted their bags from the boot.

"So where are we exactly?"

"This is Coddington Court. It was in private ownership until the Second World War when it was commandeered by the MOD as a secret research establishment, not as large or as high profile as Bletchley Park, but still strategically important to the War effort. After 1945 it was decommissioned and it fell into disrepair until the present owners took over in 1985 and converted it into a country hotel. The idea is that it is run along the lines of a private manor house of the 1930's in terms of menus, uniform and so on."

"Like a filmset for an Agatha Christie film, are we meant to wear suitable costumes as well?"

"No no, it's not a themed affair in that sense and certainly no bodies in the drawing room, we've come to get away from crime for a few days."

They stood briefly in the marble-floored portico of the main entrance, orientating themselves as to the layout of the ground floor, when a middle aged man in plus-fours and tweed jacket came forward and shook hands.

"Ah good evening you must be Mr Henry Wentworth and Ms Ruth Elliott, how do you do. Please do come in. I trust you had a comfortable journey?"

Ruth hissed at Harry

"Not very subtle pseudonyms Harry. Supposing there are any literature enthusiasts on the guest list? I hope you're not trying to suggest that I'm an over-the-hill spinster desperately longing for her lost lover?"

"No that would be me. What would you have preferred – Giles Farmer and companion?"

Ruth smirked up at him

"Well at least they'd be less obvious that Wentworth and Elliott."

Harry's lips brushed her ear lobe and his warm breath tickled her neck as he bent down and whispered "Touche" in a voice so low and quiet that only a faint vibration was discernable, like distant thunder rolling away over a darkened expectant landscape and which sent a frisson of desire through her body.

The manager led them to a small wood-panelled room to check in and slipped behind a long discreet reception desk situated along one wall. Harry's measured confident signature froze midstream as an unwelcome but familiar voice spoke behind him:

"A dirty weekend – how quaint, how unexpected, how predictable."


	12. Chapter 12

THE NEW RECRUIT

_**Chapter 12**_

****

**_WARNING: This chapter will contain some material that is of an adult nature. Please skip forward to the next chapter if you feel it will be unsuitable._**

Harry's knuckles turned white as he clenched the pen and his jaw tensioned with anger. Aware of the rigid body of Ruth next to him he felt compelled to respond to the uninvited guest.

"Hello Catherine, what an unexpected pleasure and of course a total coincidence."

"Of course Harry, it's a small world don't you think? I'm here for the weekend with a friend, Tim Harrington, he's something exciting in the city. Oh isn't this such fun meeting up like this we'll have to have a drink later on."

Ruth felt as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the air as she was left gasping for breath, the day-dream of a few days of carefree conversation and resumed intimacy replaced by the prospect of embarrassment and gossip mongering.

"Well don't let us keep you Catherine, enjoy your weekend. I hope it will prove worth the effort of driving down here, I'm certain it is one you will not forget in a hurry."

The steely threat in the cold voice and the anger seething in Harry's eyes should have rung alarm bells in Catherine Palmerston's conscious brain, but she was too triumphant at her own cleverness at having wrong-footed and scored over Harry and his adoring spaniel that she failed to read the warning signs.

Ruth whispered urgently in Harry's ear as they followed the porter up the stairs:

"I'm going to go home Harry. We can't possibly stay here now."

"Absolutely not Ruth. There is no way we are going to allow that woman to ruin our weekend."

"She already has, I've got …."

Harry cut across her :

"Don't worry Ruth, I will deal with Ms Palmerston."

Glancing down and noting her miserable agitated expression he added

"and make sure that she does not spread gossip through the serried ranks of Thames House."

Ruth smiled up weakly at him but was not convinced that even Harry's extensive powers of persuasion could achieve that. He had not been very successful at reining in Catherine Palmerston so far and armed with her new information she would be unstoppable. No, the best thing would be to go back to London as soon as possible and salvage what remained of Harry's reputation, not to mention the thought of quelling the frenzy of whisperings behind her back that were bound to follow this juiciest snippet of information.

As if reading her mind Harry opened the door of her room (that was adjacent to his) and half-jokingly, half-seriously requested that she hand over all her shoes so that she didn't do a midnight flit. Seeing from her eyes that that was precisely what she was contemplating, Harry stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Now listen Ruth, you and I have danced around our feelings for almost three years, finally we've both found the resolve to progress beyond first base and Catherine Palmerston is not going to ruin it, I ….. we … are not going to let her. So please no sneaking out in the middle of the night or I will have to sleep across the threshold like a guard dog and that would really give our dear Catherine something to gossip about."

In spite of herself Ruth chuckled at the thought of Harry in his immaculate cashmere coat dossing in the corridor.

"Alright Harry, I promise no midnight flit, but I think we will have to review our options in the morning. Neither of us is going to be comfortable with Catherine Palmerston shadowing us wherever we go."

"Get some sleep Ruth I will deal with Ms Palmerston."

He advanced closer to Ruth until there was a light but arousing contact between their bodies. Bringing his hand up behind her head he drew her into a tender and delicate kiss that became progressively deeper as he pulled her body against his and pressed his lips more urgently and intimately against hers. Ruth feeling her heart pound and her knees weaken fought against an overwhelming desire to sink into the sensation and urges of the moment

"No Harry, no I can't, I can't relax, I feel Catherine Palmerston is watching me."

Harry sighed with pent-up frustration, both mental and physical.

"Ruth you're being paranoid – you really think she would go to the lengths of planting surveillance devices."

"Well now you mention it, yes I do but that's not what I meant. I mean I'm aware of her presence here trying to disturb and incriminate you and I can't stand it, being watched and talked about."

Harry pursed his lips

"I don't care about Catherine bloody Palmerston and I don't think you do to this extent Ruth. You're using her as a shield for something else. What are you frightened of?"

Harry's tone became soft and persuasive as he encouraged Ruth to sit down on the bed next to him.

"Forget about Catherine Palmerston for one minute. Ever since I raised the suggestion of this mini-break you have been agitated. I understand that you didn't want to consent to what Catherine so sweetly referred to as a dirty weekend, but it was never the intention. We are two mature adults who have feelings for each other; we're not hurting anyone else; we're not breaking any rules – alright but issues of protocol are really not so life defining in the grand scheme of things – so why to put it bluntly Ruth are you frightened to sleep with me? Am I so raddled and unattractive in my declining years?"

"Oh no!"

Ruth's answer was emphatic and immediate.

"I do fancy you, I do really … It's just … well …… oh dear this is difficult …"

Harry held her hands and looked directly into her eyes

"Do you trust me Ruth?"

"Yes of course."

"Well tell me what's troubling you. How can I help if you don't talk to me?"

"It's difficult .. it's embarrassing …."

Ruth dropped her gaze and started to fiddle with the bed cover.

"What? What is it."

Harry's intense expressive eyes bore through Ruth and demanded an answer.

Ruth blushed as she fought her own natural reticence and tried to open up to him.

" Well the whole Catherine Palmerston thing doesn't help but apart from that er, I'm not very good, you know, at that side of things. I'll disappoint you and it will all just be a disaster."

"Oh Ruth."

Harry patted her hand gently.

"Look at me. Firstly what makes you think you're no good? You are gentle and passionate and caring – the mechanics are just that, not the main point of the exercise. I'm fifty-four Ruth, not in the first flush of youth by any means. I'm not looking for fireworks or a display of karma sutra techniques; I want to sleep with you because I love you not for a full-on pornographic display. Neither of us is on trial or in competition as to who orgasms when or how often or for that matter at all. It's not what concerns me – I want to feel you naked, to hold you as you sleep, to see you next to me when I wake up."

"I …. I don't want to disappoint you Harry."

"Forget about your past Ruth, forget about stupid articles in trashy magazines; it's just you and I. Whatever happens in the next few days I want a relationship with you – if I never slept with you I can't pretend I wouldn't be disappointed but it wound not alter how I feel about you. Now relax and stop obsessing."

Ruth opened her mouth to protest at the term 'obsessing' but she was silenced by Harry's lips kneading hers and his tongue slicing into the crevice of her mouth. Under the momentum of his body she fell back on the bed and gasped as his weight lay on top of her and his hands reached inside her blouse and slipped beneath the restriction of her bra.

The next minute the same wandering hand was tracing faint circular movements up her inner thigh until she trembled. The soft hazel eyes inviting her to relax and trust him. The kisses increased in depth and heat as a hand dextrously pulled down her pants and gently parted her legs. Ruth automatically tensed. This was the point where things would go wrong: she would concentrate, she would summon up the most successful fantasy images, but nothing would work. Ruth shut her eyes in desperation.

"Ruth look at me."

Reluctantly she opened her eyes again.

" Relax, whilst it would be immensely flattering to my ego I'm not expecting you to reach orgasm the minute I touch you Ruth, this is just an exploratory reconnaissance . Empty your mind, don't force anything, just enjoy the sensations."

She blushed deeply at the intimacy of his words and his actions.

Harry gently removed the remainder of her clothes and gazed on her naked torso. He was mesmerised and aroused by her body but was also aware of the pale intense eyes watching him with embarrassment and trepidation. He didn't know how many lovers Ruth had had, but he would guess not many and certainly not experienced judging by her fear of failure and sense of inferiority. He was sure that beneath that fragile ego and inhibition lay a passionate sensual being and he had the desire and patience to reveal it. Good sex was a fusion of the mental and the physical but Ruth seemed frightened to let go sufficiently to fuse the two – well Harry always relished a challenge and he stood to gain a cherished prize. He kissed her again deeply as his middle finger probed softly inside her. He moaned as he felt the warm wet muscular interior and removing his lubricated finger he began to delicately trace a rhythmic circular pattern. In an unconscious gesture of desire Ruth's legs fell wider apart. So inhibited maybe, but certainly not frigid. Encouraged Harry he reached down so that his tongue echoed the movement of his finger. Ruth gasped and her body stiffened in embarrassment. Harry's voice murmured reassuringly

"Ssssh, relax, just focus on the sensation, nothing else. Show me sweetheart, show me what you want."

Ruth's cheeks flamed with embarrassment but Harry took her hand and placed it on her own damp hot flesh as he sat back and steadily removed his own clothes never taking his erotically charged gaze from her body. He softly placed his own hand over hers and pressed her fingers into her wet interior and then encouraged her to rub small light circular movements

"I don't want to fumble Ruth show me how you want me to touch you, just imagine I'm not here.."

Ruth whimpered with desire as the spark of erotic desire ignited in her mind. The feel of his hand lightly tracing hers and the sensation of his tongue probing and encircling and possessing her mouth, aroused Ruth to the point that the desire for release was blocking out the mental hesitation. She began to breath deeper and more irregularly and the affect of her response was to make Harry even harder than he already was. He had to use all his will power to resist the urge to penetrate her there and then. He lowered his head so that his tongue could again touch and taste where his fingers had already sought response. Despite her inhibitions Ruth could feel a floodgate of desire building, demanding release. The tensing of her muscles signalled to Harry that she was receptive to his stimulation and he increased the rapidity of his movements until the moans turned to high pitched whimpers and her body convulsed. She reached out and grabbed him

"Oh Harry I want you inside me …."

He didn't need a second invitation. All resolution to take things gradually, to pleasure her and help her relax and then leave her contented and reassured and not take it any further went out of the window as he felt an ecstasy of pleasure as he slid inside her and felt her contract against him: claiming him, wanting him, possessing him. He alternated shallow and deep thrusts and with every long stroke she gasped. She wanted him so much, deeper, faster, filling her up…

"Oh yes …. Oh Harry…"

Her voice rasped into a series of faint laboured crises as a more intense bottomless orgasm hit her and she writhed in a paroxysm of sensation and release. Her cries and the expression in her half-closed eyes was enough to bring Harry to a forceful and uncontrollable climax. Still locked inside her, he sank in spent exhaustion onto her body as her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

When he had sufficiently recovered Harry murmured in her ear:

"Well all I can say Ms Evershed is if that is how you define sexual incompetence I'm not impressed by your analytical skills, because I for one could not conceive of a more passionate or responsive or satisfying partner."

"Well" replied Ruth with a happy and satiated smile "it's said that an able teacher should always be rewarded with a willing pupil."

A little while after they had slipped under the covers and Ruth lay with her head on his shoulder and her hand lazily tracing shapes on his chest; Harry enquired:

"So do you think they will give a refund on the surplus room?"

"Absolutely not and in any case you're going to be using it. I'm not giving Catherine Palmerston the satisfaction of telling the entire security Service that we shared a room together."

"In the light of what we've just done, don't you think that's just a tad hypocritical?"

"No, it's all to do with appearances – one of the basic rules you learn in the first week of training; besides which I told you I need my space."

"Ah yes" growled a voice dripping in insolence "and which particular space did you have in mind?"

Here Harry began to fondle and explore the top half of her torso that had been overlooked in his desire to break down the barriers of her perceived ineptitude. He had just begun to suck gently on a pink symmetrical aureole when Ruth stiffened and raised her head

"Ssssh, stop, I can hear something."

Harry groaned but continued to stimulate the hardened nipple that was being massaged between his puckered lips.

"No Harry, stop, I'm sure there's someone outside."

Harry lifted his head and stared with contented lust at his handiwork before springing out of the bed and grabbing his trousers.

"Right that's it! I'm not going to spend the entire weekend looking under the bed and listening for footsteps at the door. You want to play Miss Marple? Fine. I'm going to make sure Ms Palmerston's stay is a short one. I'll be back in a minute so don't you dare move."

Harry hastily buttoned up his shirt that looked decidedly creased and rumpled, shoved his feet into his shoes and skipped out of the bedroom door.

He had only had time in insert the key in the lock of his room when a voice murmured behind him

"If I knew it was going to be so casual, I wouldn't have bothered wearing socks either."

Harry glanced round with a malevolent expression

"Ah yes Catherine, I'd like a word if you please" and he gestured through the open doorway.

"I don't know what game you think you're playing…"

Catherine raised her eyebrows at him – it was obvious to her what he had been doing: the rumpled shirt, flushed face and the 'I've had it and God I enjoyed it' expression in his eyes were all rather a give away. 'Lucky Ruth' thought Catherine enviously 'I knew he'd be good in bed and he's certainly still equal to the task by the looks of it.'

"Of the two of us, I would say it's you who's been having fun and games."

"This has to stop right here and right now. Pack your bags and your toy boy and go home."

"You're not jealous are you Harry? You know you only have to ask and I'll give Tim the heave-ho. I don't mind making do with seconds or is it thirds? As for being here it's a total coincidence. I'm here for a weekend break. Why shouldn't I be? And if you want to get rid of me then you're going to have to come up with an explanation that might prove a tiny weeny bit incriminating to your superiors. All this sniffiness about no fraternising with lower ranks is very petty I know, but as you yourself pointed out Harry it exists."

Harry glowered at her. She had him over a barrel and she knew it.

"Don't push your luck Catherine you might live to regret it."

Catherine Palmerston's response was to kiss him fully and erotically on the lips, her wet open mouth forcing his apart as her tongue thrust towards the back of his throat. Harry grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pushed her away, his eyes blazing with anger. Before he had a chance to chastise her for her latest sexual assault Catherine smiled triumphantly at him.

"I knew it! You have an interesting taste in your mouth Harry and it's not single malt."

Harry's face assumed its customary guarded expression and in a low menacing tone that would have had anyone other than Catherine running for the hills, he replied

"There are limits even to your usefulness Catherine. I've dealt with scores of women like you over the years. Make no mistake, if you push me too far I will make sure you regret the consequences. Now get out."

Harry opened the door, gesturing for her to leave and Catherine stalked past him

"You're not the only one capable of making threats Harry. I don't suppose the DG would be too pleased to hear about you sneaking off for a dirty weekend with one of your junior staff. Now I'm going to stay here and enjoy my weekend and sooner or later you are going to see sense and come chasing me and believe me after you've slept with me you wouldn't have the energy left to pull your clothes on, with or without socks" and with that parting shot she strolled nonchalantly down the corridor.

Harry shut the door and sinking down on the bed rubbed his hands over his face. The dilemma: he had to get rid of her and yet he didn't want to risk her shit-stirring back at Thames House and making Ruth's life a misery. "Damn that bloody woman" he muttered to himself as he reached for his mobile phone.

"Hello Adam. I need you to do something for me. I've come down to Sussex for the weekend with Ruth. Yes, thank you Adam, if I wanted smutty schoolboy humour I would have phoned Zaf. No I have not rung up for tips. Listen. Catherine Palmerston is here. God knows how, but she found out about my plans and she's determined to try and cause as much trouble as she can. Well I don't know why, well yes I suppose I do; she wanted to add my scalp to her collection – she broke into my house and I had to throw her out practically naked. Well I'm glad you can see the funny side of this Adam, the woman is an absolute menace. Well anyway, as she's pointed out, if I move against her she'll make as big a fuss as she can. Now her threats don't bother me, I have enough on file on most of the higher echelons in the Service for them not to want to challenge me in the delicate area of secret relationships, but she could cause Ruth acute embarrassment. So I need you to find a pressing need for her services, preferably back at 6 and ideally somewhere in the outer reaches of Mongolia. No I don't want my ego or any other part of my anatomy massaged by Catherine Palmerston thank you and I certainly don't want a ménage a trios. Are you going to take this seriously Adam or will I have to find someone who will? Fine. Ok. Ring me back when you have some news. Everything all right otherwise? Good. What? The name of the hotel? Oh sorry did I forget to mention it, it's Cotterham Court but please don't broadcast this. It's taken all my powers of persuasion to get Ruth to agree to come down after the fiasco of the last bout of water-cooler gossip about out dinner date and don't play the innocent with me Adam I know you were as culpable as the others. Well I'm sorry I know secrets are our lifeblood but you know Ruth, she can't bear being talked about so I want Catherine Palmerston and her antics removed from my orbit forthwith before she can cause more trouble. Yes thank you Adam very funny, I really don't think I have sexual charisma nor do I wish to make commercial profit out of it. So don't forget ring me when you have a solution worked out. Ok. Love to Wes. Bye."

Harry hastened back to Ruth's room and was pleased to see that for once she had done as he had told her and was still lying naked, warm and inviting under the cover.

"That was Catherine Palmerston wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I've sent her packing."

Ruth groaned

"I knew it, she's going to spread this all over Thames House by Monday. I can't bear this Harry. I know I shouldn't have come away with you. It will weaken your authority, everyone whispering and giggling. I'm not going to go through that again."

Harry who had quickly divested himself of his clothes, slipped back into the bed and drew her towards him, kissing her forehead and stroking the contours of her body as she lay on her side facing him.

"I will sort it out Ruth. I promise I will sort it out."

Despite her anxieties, the physical presence of a naked Harry entwining his legs with hers and drawing her into an increasingly intimate embrace brought her back to the enormity of what had happened between them. The failures and unsatisfying fumblings with previous lovers had left her feeling inadequate and humiliated by men with big egos and little patience who had not hesitated to suggest that any shortcomings were naturally on her side; suddenly after even a single intimate union with Harry she felt confident, sexy and desirable. She had held him at arms length for so long, not simply because of concerns over protocol or reservations about indulging in personal relationships in the workplace; but also because she feared another disastrous sexual encounter. She knew he admired and respected her professional capabilities and appreciated her intellect but the prospect of revealing her shortcomings in bed had been too disturbing to take the risk. Better to be lusted after from a distance than disappoint and discourage a man she loved and admired. Perhaps he was right, it was to do with trust – he had made her feel secure and not on trial, not required to perform and be judged on her sexual prowess. As a consequence she had been able to relax and enjoy the attentions of a sympathetic, experienced and sexually desirable lover.

As these thoughts coursed through Ruth's mind she absentmindedly began to stroke him back and kiss him passionately

"Mmmm Ms Evershed, from ice maiden to scarlet woman in one bound, so it was not the clothes but the absence of them that released the inner vixen?"

"No, it was you Harry …. "

She rolled him onto his back and straddled him

"And now it's your turn to show me what you want ….."

Half an hour later they lay spent and sweaty on the bed.

"How about a shower and then a late night drink and stroll in the grounds?"

suggested Harry "or shall we just lock ourselves away from the world?"

"The world has a nasty habit of finding us Harry. You need to go back to your own room and get unpacked and dressed …" here Ruth lent over him and peered down at the scattered heaps on the floor "in slightly less crumpled clothes."

"Ruth, this is ridiculous. It's turning into one of those awful French bedroom farces with people hiding in wardrobes and sneaking down corridors."

"French farce it is then Harry. Since when has the Head of Section D abandoned all counter-surveillance awareness?"

"Since he wanted to spend the night with the most beautiful, most delectable, most insatiable woman in Thames House."

"Hmm, I bet you say that to all the women in the Service; in fact you HAVE said it to quite a few. Now let me think: Juliet, Tess, that woman over in Human Resources Connie Stevens and that's probably only the tip of the iceberg. No wonder Catherine Palmerston feels miffed, perhaps she's the only one of eligible female spooks who hasn't sampled your charms. I haven't so much rescued a lonely heart as joined a club. The Thames House equivalent of the Mile High Club. Now what shall we call ourselves? The Pearcettes? – no that sounds like a 50's pop group; er how about Harry's Girls? – no a bit obvious; um how about something more cryptic, I know, the HOW club."

Harry sat back against the pillows with an amused look in his eyes and pursed lips – he had no intention of rising to the bait. Ruth continued, determined to make him lose his composure:

"you might well ask what that stands for – HOW as in how when and where, the first rules of counter surveillance? And they are certainly commonly posed questions when the sex life of Harry Pearce is raised in conversation but no you would be wrong."

Still no response, Ruth becoming increasingly frustrated decided to try a more direct line of attack:

"It is in fact an abbreviation for the very essence that binds these poor unfortunates together: Harrys Obsessed Women. I had thought that we should be called girls rather than women but then calling your females HOGs might be misunderstood and anyway it would be stretching credulity to its limits to call most of your ex's girls."

Harry decided to take pity on her and relent before she tied herself up in knots in an effort to break him:

"For a so-called Intelligence Analyst Ruth, you are not behaving very intelligently. In fact I think as your boss I'm going to have to chastise you very firmly."

Ruth shrieked, sprang out of his grasp, tripped on the duvet and landed in a giggling heap on the floor. Harry gazed down at her with an amused expression that lit up his eyes and softened his features.

"I suppose this infantile behaviour is what comes of cradle-snatching, I'd better seek out someone of my own age if I want a greater sense of decorum in my escort."

"Escort? – are you trying to suggest I'm a lady of the night?"

"Well you will be if you don't hurry up and get washed and dressed. I'll see you down in the bar at 10.30 sharp."

Harry sat up and once again reached for his trousers and shirt.

"I may as well be in a farce the number of times I've had my trousers up and down this evening."

Ruth crawled over to his feet and kissed her way slowly up his legs and inner thigh, breathing warm and moist air over his reawakening erection and licking her way up his stomach and smooth chest until she stood upright next to him

"You wouldn't be grumbling by any chance would you Harry. The trouble with grumbling is that it makes people think you're not grateful." Ruth dropped her voice to a husky Lauren Bacall-like whisper "You wouldn't want me to think you're not grateful would you Harry? The passion of the kiss she received by way of reply certainly left her in no doubt of his feelings on that score. For a few minutes Ruth felt immune to any tribulation that could be thrown in her way: the spite of Catherine Palmerston, the prospect of the endless smirks and whispers on the Grid, the disciplinary proceedings that could be brought; nothing mattered as she stood cocooned in Harry's strong arms, feeling the urgency and depth of this passion for her.

"A mini-break, it must be true love."

"Pardon?"

"Sorry it slipped out, it's um, Bridget Jones' Diary."

Harry groaned and pulled on his shirt

"Ruth Evershed quoting chick lit. That decides it, I need a drink."

He looked down at his watch which told him it was 10.25.

"Better make it a quarter to eleven and don't forget to wear something warm enough for outside."

"Your wish is my command oh master."

Harry laughed , a quick and rarely seen change of expression that lit up his whole face:

"Is this the same young woman who has Simone de Beauvoir in pride of place on her bookshelf?"

"Oh yes, but I don't feel particularly eunuch-like this evening."


	13. Chapter 13

_THE NEW RECRUIT_

_**Chapter 13**_

**_Chapter 13 – unlucky for some but will that be Catherine Palmerston or Harry & Ruth? Read on to find out or there again the resolution might not come for another chapter!_**

****

* * *

**_The Bar_**

'Obviously it isn't only women who suffer with punctuality problems' thought Ruth as she sat in the corner of the bar sipping a glass of red wine at 10.55. It wasn't like Harry to be late. An involuntary nagging anxiety came to her – 'supposing something had happened to him? – a terrorist or weirdo could have followed him here and kidnapped him, He was vulnerable without his usual security protection, he could be bound and gagged in the back of a van at this very moment being driven through the Sussex countryside whilst she sat idly by swigging the house Merlot. Or worse (and far more likely!) - Catherine Palmerston might have launched another offensive in his room' – images of Catherine with swirling nipple tassels doing an impromptu pole dance around the four poster bed was so disturbing she quashed it immediately.

One of her fears was abated almost immediately as the Salome in question glided into the room on the arm of the preposterously young-looking city boy. Ruth estimated that he must be around 21 – so a good few years beyond the age of consent, but still at least twelve years younger than Catherine. It was stupid of her to condemn the pair on the basis of age difference given the seventeen year gap between herself and Harry and yet the latter disparity didn't seem inappropriate whereas the sight of the experienced man-eating figure of Catherine Palmerston standing next to the fresh-faced slightly shy youth did bring to mind the term 'cradle-snatching'.

Catherine sashayed up to the bar and order two Cassis and champagne cocktails with a sideways glance and smirk at Ruth:

"You seem to have been stood up by your VIP escort – exhaustion perhaps? The poor dears always need extra recuperation time when they're the wrong side of fifty. Would you like to join us for a cocktail?"

Ruth was so angry she could spit. How dare Catherine make intimate insinuations about Harry and to suggest he was over the hill – bloody nerve!

"No thank you Catherine, I've already got a drink and you know what they say about two's company, three's a crowd."

"Oh I don't know Ruth, personally I often find it makes for some very interesting dynamics in or out of the bedroom."

Ruth could not disguise her embarrassment at Catherine's suggestive remark as images of a threesome with Catherine & Harry rose unwillingly into her conscious mind. Catherine snorted with amusement at Ruth's discomfort and reddening cheeks and with the parting suggestive remark:

"I'm so glad to see we're on the same wavelength Ruth" led the bewildered looking Tim over to the adjacent table.

At that moment Harry's broad frame strode hurriedly through the door and his eyes scanning the room quickly spotted the isolated figure of Ruth flanked by the unwelcome presence of Catherine and her tame companion. Harry cast his eyes upwards in a gesture of exasperation and moved swiftly to join Ruth, giving Catherine a piercing and hostile look as he manoeuvred past her.

"Oh Harry isn't this cosy, just the four of us, although I was suggesting to Ruth only a moment ago that three has more dynamic possibilities."

Harry glanced enquiringly at Ruth who shook her head almost imperceptibly at him and he replied to Catherine with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Unfortunately Catherine much as I would love to stop and chat we have other plans. Enjoy your evening." He reverted to his customary authoritative manner when he addressed Ruth: "Come. Now."

" Ruth, if you know what's good for you put a copy of Spare Rib in his stocking this Christmas if you don't want to be dragged back to the cave by your hair on a regular basis and as for you Harry I'd avoid Kensington if I were you, the Natural History Museum is staging a new exhibition on the Neanderthals and you'll find yourself in a different sort of glass case to the one you're used to if you're not careful."

Harry, resisting the temptation to smack Catherine hard on the face pursed his lips and walked out of the bar only pausing to hold open the door for Ruth.

Tim made renewed efforts to gain Catherine's attention once Harry and Ruth had left the bar.

"So what shall we talk about?"

"I haven't brought you down here to talk Tim – if I wanted stimulating intercourse of the verbal variety I would have selected a guest whose IQ stretched into three figures and whose idea of a good night out didn't involve getting rat-arsed on cheap vodka and running round Grey's Inn in women's underwear."

"Catherine that's not fair."

"Look sweetie, here's £100, take a bottle of their best bubbly up to our room, watch the rugby you've been wanting to see all day and I'll be up shortly. I've just got something I need to do first."

****

**_The Cool Night Air_**

The grass was wet underfoot and a fine mist hung in the air, but Ruth was oblivious to the chill as the moisture gradually seeped through the sodden suede of her boots/ She walked alongside Harry scurrying every few strides to keep up with the fast pace he was setting.

"You didn't tell me we were entering a marathon."

"Sorry Ruth, I just want to make sure that wretched woman isn't following us."

"Isn't that a touch paranoid even for a spy Harry?" We've just left her in the bar with Tim and she was wearing five inch stilettos, I really don't think even Catherine Palmerston would be keen enough to come shadowing us in this terrain."

Harry looked down at her ruefully and slowing his pace slipped his arm around her shoulders.

"You're right, we're the only idiots around here hellbent on catching pneumonia."

Ruth smiled to herself and began to hum softly "_oh I hear laughter in the rain_ _walking hand in hand with the one I love". _Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement:

"That's Neil Sedaka isn't it? - more my vintage than yours"

"I'm surprised you recognise it, I didn't think pedants were in touch with popular culture."

Harry's eyes gleamed softly in the fading light as he suddenly flung her against the broad trunk of an ancient gnarled oak tree and pinned her down with his body, kissing her urgently and passionately, his cold hands chilling her waist as they crept underneath the folds of her jumper.

"You're in ….no position…to call anyone……..a pedant ……….Ms Evershed. You have a first class degree …in….pedantry. I've…read your file….remember?"

The last word was muffled by a tongue unwilling to leave its exploration of her mouth to fully articulate the word.

Ruth lost all sense of time as she stood inhaling the crisp night air blended with the all-embracing desire of the man she loved. An osmosis of passion and empathy that was almost a physical absorption through the skin. She responded with repeated kisses: some open-mouthed, deep and erotic, others light feathery pecks; all sharing a desire not to finish, not to be the final one. Eventually her lips began to tingle, whether from cold or extended contact with the fine stubble on his face she couldn't tell. She didn't want to be the first to pull away, to separate herself from his warm sensual lips and the proximity of his body, but they couldn't stand there all night in the increasingly insistent drizzle or the jest about pneumonia would become a reality. Despite the damp air and the cold seeping into her bones Ruth felt that she was on fire. Harry's physicality – the weight of his body pressing her contours to the tree, the sensation of his breath on her face as his low voice rumpled an urgent desire for fewer clothes in a warmer environment – made her head swim and her knees buckle.

"I thought you invited me out for a walk Harry, we haven't exactly gone very far."

Harry chuckled his reply:

"Oh believe me I'd go a lot further if the weather was not so inclement."

Ruth's answer was to rub her fingers through the damp curly hair at the nape of his neck and kiss the droplets of rain from his forehead, cheeks and nose.

"Once round the walled garden – the bar man told me there is a resident ghost that walks there – and then I promise we'll go in."

Harry smiled indulgently at her

"The only ghosts we are likely to find are all the missed opportunities I intend to take every occasion this weekend to lay to rest."

Twenty minutes later two happy if bedraggled figures climbed the richly carpeted stairs.

"So your place or mine?"

"I think that should be your shower or mine."

"Sounds good to me. In that case let's make it mine – the shower is larger."

Harry was bundling a giggling wet Ruth through his bedroom door when some sixth sense made him press his finger to his lips and look around with heightened caution. He couldn't immediately identify the cause of his anxiety but something didn't feel quite right. He signalled to Ruth to stand still whilst he switched on the television. Ruth groaned inwardly – back to reality, so much for forgetting about being a spook for a few hours. Harry put his mouth close to her ear

"I think we've had a visitor. Let's check and see if she's left a calling card."

Ruth whilst feeling under the rims of the tables, chair s and lampshades also observed Harry admiringly out of the corner of her eye. It was easy to forget watching his harassed suited figure barking orders from his plush office that he had once been a field officer and by all accounts an outstanding one: quick-witted, unflappable, ruthless. Here suddenly he was transformed: the bulk of his stocky figure darting nimbly around the room, checking, scanning, assessing. Suddenly a soft sigh of pleasure:

"Ah, one of the new generation that Malcolm's lusting after. I'm going to complain to Juliet, 6 is obviously getting first dibs at the latest equipment."

Harry straightened up from his position near the canopy of the bed and pointed to a tiny camera no bigger than a pencil head. Speaking softly he continued

"I'm sure this one has a companion somewhere. Keep looking."

It was Harry who also located the second camera camouflaged in a brushed steel case and strapped to the side of one of the halogen spot lights in the bathroom. It was trained on the shower and wash basin. Ruth was horrified.

"She is actually spying on you in the bathroom for goodness sake. What the hell does she expect to see?"

Of course what Ruth was actually thinking was ' what the hell has she already seen of Harry in the privacy of his own bathroom and what would she have witnessed if Harry had not noticed that something was wrong?' Something inside Ruth snapped

"This is outrageous Harry. I'm going to go and sort out that woman. I've had enough. How dare she spy on you, on us, with impunity."

Harry was also annoyed by Catherine Palmerston's latest antic but he was concerned at Ruth's obvious distress and tried to make light of their discovery.

"We're just spies being spied upon. It's an occupational hazard, don't take it so much to heart. If Catherine Palmerston has so little to amuse her that the sight of my bare bottom is worth going to these lengths then good luck to her."

"Yes, but it's not your bare bottom she's after, she wants to humiliate you, perhaps even have you dismissed and she wants to use our …." Here Ruth wracked her brain to think of an appropriate term to sum up what she and Harry had together without sounding too needy or presumptuous "our ….situation, to do it."

Harry gestured to Ruth to follow him back into the bedroom.

"I think if Catherine Palmerston is looking for something incriminating the least we can do is oblige her."

"Harry!"

"It's alright Ruth, I'm not suggesting we re-enact our version of Last Tango in Paris for her delectation; I had something far more hardcore in mind for Catherine."

Ruth looked increasingly concerned as the implications of what he was saying sunk in.

"Harry, that's a very dangerous game to play. There are too many people after your blood who wouldn't be too fussy where the evidence came from or whether or not it had been fabricated by you in the first place. If you're not careful you could be hoisted on your own petard."

"Are you questioning my abilities or my judgement Ruth?"

"Neither, it's your risk assessment that concerns me. Trying to catch an expert like Catherine Palmerston in a sting is a high risk strategy. The prize doesn't justify the gamble. Much as I hate to say it it's better to leave her alone and sooner or later hopefully Catherine will get bored and slither off to find some other poor sucker to squeeze into submission."

"I'm sorry Ruth, I'm not prepared for you to be held to ransom by Ms Palmerston and her candid camera; constantly on edge, waiting for her to pop up from behind the curtains."

"Well perhaps you could remind her what happens to people who hide behind the arras, but don't follow through with this madcap scheme."

"I like madcap schemes Ruth, besides which I rather relish the prospect of once more being involved in the thrill of the chase."

Ruth sighed

"I don't suppose there's anything I could do to make you change your mind.?"

"Well I'm always open to persuasion …. "

Harry glancing up to make sure that he was positioned out of range of the hidden camera, drew her to him and began to kiss her indecently. The taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands pressing her lower torso against his body precluded any further rational discussion.

"This" he murmured in her ear as he pushed her against the wall "is going to have to be swift and silent if we are going to avoid the detection of Mrs Holmes – do you think you can do silent for me Ruth?"

Harry's voice growled against her cheek as his hands divested her of skirt and knickers in one swift movement. Dropping his trousers with similar dexterity he placed his arm under her knee and lifting her leg entered her urgently. Ruth gasped at the force that his body thrust inside her, repeatedly slamming her against the wall. Stifling the overwhelming urge to cry out in a heady cocktail of pain and desire Ruth clenched her eyes shut and moaned into his mouth as his tongue sought the same sanctuary of enclosing wetness as his engorged penis which was penetrating her with ever increasing insistence urging both of them towards release. As the cries of ecstasy rose involuntarily in her throat Harry's broad hand clamped firmed over her mouth and she bit onto his finger as they both convulsed.

"'_We 2 boys together clinging' _whispered Ruth as she leant trembling against Harry's body.

"Who painted that?"

"David Hockney"

"Ah yes. Much more fun with girls though in my humble opinion."

"Why – have you sampled both?"

Ruth tried to keep the surprise out of her voice whilst Harry's warm hazel eyes still glazed with erotic desire held her questioning gaze whilst an enigmatic smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Just let's say that my philosophy of covering all eventualities goes back a long way, besides which in my teens I was considered to be somewhat camp so I had a reputation to keep up."

"I'm intrigued."

"Well good, stay that way because that's all the intelligence you're getting out of me on the subject Ms Evershed."

Ruth returned his quixotic smile with a flash of mischief in her eyes.

"I'm not surprised Harry: man, woman or beast, who could resist you?"

"This conversation is rapidly moving beyond the bounds of propriety. I suggest showers and bed before innuendo gets the better of good sense."

"But the cameras?"

"Yes, I know. They will have to stay in place or Catherine Palmerston will know she's been discovered. So much as I regret to say this Ruth you need to return to your room whilst I go and give Catherine a floor show in my bathroom. I suggest you also check your room as she's likely to have hedged her bets and placed devices in both places.

Ruth quickly pulled on her clothes and skipped silently through the door whilst Harry went through the pantomime of first pulling on his trousers and then moving over to the bed in full view of the camera and dropping them again. As he unbuttoned his shirt slowly he tried to look relaxed but inwardly he felt like a strip-a-gram. Dressed only in boxers he moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Thankful that it was made of opaque glass he tried to maintain a casual attitude as he lifted a towel from a nearby rail and dropping his boxers stepped quickly into the shower.

"Mmm Harry, definitely still in good shape. Don't be a spoil sport, turn round for Mummy."

Catherine Palmerston was sprawled out on her bed with a portable monitor in her hand. She licked her lips in appreciation and flexed her leg muscles as she fantasised about drawing Harry's naked body against hers.

"Anything interesting that you're watching?"

"No, just some property details. I'll show you if I come across anything I might be in a position to acquire. Just concentrate on the rugby."

Catherine Palmerston kept her eyes on the monitor.

"Now where is you little friend? Why isn't she in there with you Harry? You paid for all this, the least she could do is offer to wash your back."

Catherine had to fight back the urge to slip into Harry's room and offer to do it herself. Tempting as his naked body undoubtedly was, she was now involved in her own private op and she was determined that it would be pay-back time for the man whistling to himself in the shower. For the third time that evening Catherine's bleeper went off. She picked it up and frowning dismissively she tossed it back onto the bed.

"Whatever you're cooking up to obstruct me Adam Carter I'm not interested. You're going to have to try a lot harder to catch out this little cookie – I'm a spook on a mission." Catherine laughed throatily to herself and leaning back against the pillow continued to watch the monitor that revealed a clear image of Harry padding round his bedroom with a towel wrapped casually around his waist.

"You're up to something Harry and I'm going to nail you no matter how much pretty boy Carter tries to deflect my attention."

Harry moved out of range of Catherine's hidden camera and put on a pair of striped pyjamas. He had secretly hoped that they would not be needed that weekend and in that he had been both rewarded and disappointed. Yes he had achieved the longed-for intimacy with Ruth but no he was not, thanks to Catherine Palmerston, going to be able to be naked in her arms all night. The thought of such a prospect propelled Harry to pick up his mobile and whisper in a low sensual tone:

"Hello Ruth. Are you ok? Good, good. No, no reason, except I want you here, now. What are you doing? Mmm yes my imagination is in full working order thank you. Are you out of camera range. Good. Lie back on the chair, close your eyes and feel my hands touching you. Yes I know where this conversation is going to lead and I don't care. I've spent the last three years in a permanently frustrated state, at least this time I can base fantasy on actual experience."

So, dear reader, we will leave the pair of them to their erotic phonecall - urging each other on to ever more intense images and desires, luxuriating in the promise that they would turn fantasy into reality at the earliest opportunity.


	14. Chapter 14

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 14**_

Adam meanwhile had made little headway with his pledge to Harry to remove Catherine Palmerston from circulation. She was not responding to either her phone or her bleeper, even when he went as far as to red flash her. He vowed that when he finally got his hands on her she would be more ready for the slaughterhouse than the doghouse! It had taken the two people most important in his life after Wes three years to summon up enough temerity to take their relationship to the next stage beyond lingering glances and mutual regard and now she was trying to sabotage it. Much as he didn't want to add to the siege, Adam realised that he was left with no choice but to go down to Sussex and physically retrieve Catherine in person. He had tried to call in favours at 6 to have her sent on another posting, but she was well protected (she probably had enough evidence in her possession to blackmail half of Whitehall never mind Vauxhall Cross) and there was not much more he could do in that department without drawing attention to why 5 suddenly wanted to get rid of a seconded agent so urgently. So it was, that not only Adam, but also Jo and Zaf found themselves driving through the Surrey countryside at dead of night.

"I just can't get over it. Harry and Ruth sneaking off for a dirty weekend. Wow!"

"I didn't say it was a dirty weekend and it certainly won't be at the moment with Catherine Palmerston sniffing around. Harry texted me that she's actually put cameras in their bedrooms. By the by, this is not to go any further, any of it, do you both understand? No little chats with your water-cooler buddies Jo and certainly no cashing in on previous bets Zaf."

"Of course not."

Both Jo and Zaf tried their best to sound sincere but their obvious excitement at the momentous news made Adam doubt that Harry and Ruth's liaison would be a secret for much longer.

"Did you say bedrooms as in the plural?"

"Don't be prurient Zaf. Yes, not that it's any of your business, but they do have their own rooms."

"That's a bit odd isn't it? I mean I know that Ruth's not exactly the bed-hopping kind and Harry's probably a bit past it by now but even so ……"

"Look, we're not down here to discuss the niceties of Ruth and Harry's bedroom arrangements. We've come to remove Catherine Palmerston and that's exactly what we will do, as quickly and quietly as possible and then leave the pair of them to enjoy … whatever it is they intend to enjoy … in peace. Is that understood?"

Zaf and Jo both nodded, sobered by the stern tone that had crept into Adam's voice although the glance they threw to each other was pregnant with mischief.

When they were about thirty minutes from the hotel Adam speed dialled on his phone:

"Hello, Mr Wentworth, yes this is pest control. We've had reports of an outbreak of vermin in your area and I'm just ringing to reassure you that the problem will be taken care of. No you won't need to evacuate, we have all the necessary equipment to carry out the fumigation without disturbing any of the guests. Yes, I will contact you again to confirm when it's completed. Goodbye."

_**Morning **_

When Ruth came down to breakfast in the spacious and airy dining room, Harry was already seated at a table near the window that overlooked the cultivated lawns and the lake beyond. With old-fashioned deference he rose from his seat as Ruth approached and gestured to the chair opposite. The scenario was so reminiscent of countless meetings on the Grid where she had sat around a table with him that she wondered if the last 24 hours had been a hallucination. Had she really made love with this man she had adored from afar for so long, touched his naked skin, felt him pulsate inside her, whispered erotic intimacies to him on the phone? Ruth blushed scarlet at the thought of what they had done and dropped her eyes from his steady gaze.

"Ruth?"

"Yes."

She began to pick the crust of the roll she had hastily grabbed from the basket, still refusing to meet his enquiring gaze.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Ruth?"

Harry's voice became more emphatic and his hand stretched across the table and stilled her agitated fingers. The eyes that were raised to his were troubled and her expression diffident and withdrawn.

"I, I think we made a mistake Harry."

Harry frowned and leant towards her across the table.

"What do you mean a mistake?"

"All of it Harry. Us, the weekend …last night…. We, we shouldn't have overstepped the mark, it's not right. I can't go on with this."

"Ruth. What's the problem?"

"It's just not right Harry. Never mix business with pleasure remember. You're my boss. What happens if things go wrong? How can we carry on a professional relationship with so much history and anyway everyone watching and giggling all the time – I can't bear it."

"Ruth. I have witnessed and had to deal with the most horrendous situations. I'm really not bothered about office tittle-tattle and neither should you. As for us, you are a unique and wonderful person, I'm not going to let go of you because of protocol. I'm tired of being alone Ruth; tired of having only a dog waiting for me at home; tired of watching you from a distance and wanting you ….and …"

Here Harry's voice dropped lower and he raised Ruth's hand to his lips

"… loving you and not being able to hold you, to make love to you. I don't believe you feel differently. Tell me you don't love me Ruth."

Ruth was saved from the dilemma of having to chose between confessing to Harry how she really felt and hanging on to her convictions by an unwelcome guest serenading them as she walked into the room:

"When I fall in love, it will be forever ……"

Catherine Palmerston smirked at Harry's glowering expression as she sauntered past them closely followed by Tim and took a seat at a nearby table.

Ruth took a deep breath to calm her palpitating heart. Harry has just said that he loved her. HE LOVED HER!! Of course she had known in her heart of hearts; had hoped and had dismissed that hope as futile and yet gone on adoring him and cherishing the belief that he might have feelings for her. Harry was not a man to make such a declaration lightly. The consequences of what he had said filled her with equal parts of happiness and dread. Happiness that her feelings were in reality reciprocated and that the person she had loved more intensely than she had thought possible loved her in return; but equally dreading the upheaval this would cause to both their professional and domestic lives. She was not however about to give Catherine Palmerston the pleasure of eavesdropping on their highly personal conversation.

"So Harry, what's on the agenda for today. A five mile hike or a sightseeing tour?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the abrupt change in subject from what they had been discussing, but before he had had a chance to reply Catherine butted into the conversation as she walked towards the breakfast bar:

"I'd stick to the hike if I were you Harry, I'm sure Ruth's already had enough of visiting ancient monuments."

Harry's eyes blazed and Ruth could see the warning signs that he was about to lose his temper and hissed at him across the table

"Harry, don't react. It's what she wants."

"Bloody woman. I'm going to put a stop to this."

"No Harry listen. She's deliberately provoking you so you'll cause a scene. Don't give her that satisfaction."

Harry sighed heavily.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just wanted everything perfect for this weekend."

"I know Harry and it will be, we'll just have to out-manoeuvre her that's all. Now where shall we go today?"

"I've something planned for after lunch, but this morning I thought if it stays fine we could take one of the hotel boats on the lake."

Ruth looked taken aback.

"You? In a rowing boat?"

"Excuse me young woman, but in my youth I used to be the star of my school's coxless pairs – we took part in the Henley Regatta three years running."

"Now you in striped blazer and straw boater Harry. That I have to see."

They continued with their breakfast, careful to keep the conversation general and light hearted. Catherine, deciding after the look on Harry's face to hold fire on any further personal remarks, contented herself with creating discomfort simply by her presence in the room and sat with a fixed smile on her face as Tim enthused about his white water kayaking experiences in Colorado during a recent works holiday. After a final serving of fresh fruit Ruth and Harry left the table and made their way upstairs. As Ruth opened the door to her room Harry stepped in behind her and indicated to her to stand in the corner that was out of range of Catherine's hidden camera. His mouth met hers in an exploring but slightly tentative kiss. Moving his head so that his lips were touching her ear he whispered

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't need to, you know the answer."

"I'd like to hear it all the same. I've had enough of things that are never said."

Ruth whispered back in his ear

"I love you Harry, but that doesn't solve everything."

"It does for me."

The kisses that followed rendered Ruth incapable of further protest.

Suddenly Harry's phone rang. He broke off his assault on her long enough to check the incoming call.

"I'm sorry Ruth, I have to take this. Hello, yes. Good. When? Are you sure? Well I'll see you then. Yes. Ok. Bye."

He turned to Ruth to see her eyes narrowed in a quizzical expression.

"What are you up to?"

"Routine. Nothing vital."

"I could hear Adam's voice. I thought you said you were not to be disturbed this weekend unless it was an emergency?"

"Hmmm,…yes, well, since when have you known Adam do as he's told?"

"About the same time as I've known your ability to keep secrets. Come on Harry, I know something's going on."

"There's nothing going on. It's just the spook in you Ruth, reading too much into everything. Now where were we?"

Ruth sidestepped Harry's grasp and moved back into the sightline of the camera.

"About to get ready to mess about in boats. I'm afraid I've inadvertently left my Edwardian day dress and parasol at home, but I'll do my best to look the part."

Ruth pushed a gently protesting Harry out of the door and delving into the wardrobe brought out a delicate silk dress in a flower pattern of pink and ivory with a scalloped edge to the neck embroidered in ivory silk. She teamed the dress with plain beads and a pair of flat pumps and took out a fitted linen jacket for if the promisingly fine day should take a turn for the worse. She found Harry waiting for her in the panelled day room, ensconced in a wide chintz sofa browsing through a copy of Private Eye.

"Now why did I just know that you would be a Private Eye man?"

Harry smiled at her and stood up. In her flat heels she had to tilt her head upwards to meet his gaze. The disparity in their height and size made her look even more fragile in Harry's eyes as he took in her slight form, defined beneath the soft folds of the delicate fabric. He cleared his throat and hesitated how to compliment her without causing embarrassment.

"That er, that dress suits you. I haven't seen it before."

Ruth, touched and amused by the thought that he had been mentally clocking her outfits whilst at work replied with a hint of humour in her voice

"Well, it's hardly the sort of outfit suitable to lug files around the Grid but I'll bear it in mind for the future."

"Oh no, please, I find It difficult enough to concentrate in meetings as it is."

Harry reached out an arm to guide her across the room and felt a frisson of desire as he felt the sensation of thin fabric rubbing against bare warm skin as his arm made contact with her back.

In preparation for the physical exertion of rowing a traditional wooden tub around the large lake, Harry had dressed in casual, loose-fitting clothing, but being Harry, these were still immaculately tailored, if not exactly at the cutting edge of fashion. Ruth did think as she glanced admiringly at him that he would benefit from one or two more snazzy items to brighten up his conservative wardrobe. There were several other boats out on the lake by the time they had made it down to the boat house. Harry managed to steady Ruth as she stumbled and almost landed in the waiting boat head first. She blushed scarlet with embarrassment as she caught the amused look on the attendants face and apologised in a flustered voice

"I'm sorry Harry, I'm not very good in boats I'm afraid. I fell off punts more times at University than I care to remember and I hated sailing as a child. _Swallows and Amazons_ was the nearest I wanted to get to the real thing."

"Don't worry I'll look after you."

"Well as many of your operatives are under the impression that you can walk on water I should be safe in your care."

Harry, pulling a face of mock disapproval placed the oars in the metal rings and pulled away from the landing stage with strong even strokes.

"So do you believe I have God-like powers Ruth?"

Ruth pulled a wry face back at him

"Well you've got me in a boat. So I'd say that was quite miraculous."

"Relax Ruth. Lean back, enjoy the fresh air and the absence of surveillance vans and computer screens."

Ruth obeyed and closing her eyes leant back against the large cushions that were thoughtfully provided. She could feel a breeze on her cheeks and the hypnotic sound of the oars straining in their couplings and striking through the water in an undulating rhythm began to lull her to sleep. Another equally hypnotic sound reached her ears. Harry's low sensual voice was reciting poetry. Ruth sank back further into the cushions and sighed with pleasure at the assault on her senses:

"_Being your slave, what should I do but tend_

_Upon the hours and times of your desire?_

_I have no precious time at all to spend,_

_Nor services to do, till you require._

_Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour_

_Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,_

_Nor think the bitterness of absence sour_

_When you have bid your servant once adieu._

_Nor dare I question with my jealous thought_

_Where you might be, or your affairs suppose,_

_But like a sad slave stay and think of nought_

_Save where you are how happy you make those._

_So true a fool is love that in your will,_

_Though you do anything, he thinks no ill._

Encouraged by her murmurs of contentment and affection, Harry continued:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

_Admit impediments; love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove._

_O no, it is an ever-fixed mark_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken; ………._

Suddenly the tranquillity of the moment was shattered by a sharp jolt as their boat was rammed from the side. Harry swore as he braced himself against the oars, but Ruth who had not seen the danger was flung out of the boat at the moment of impact and hit the water with an impressive splash. She came to the surface coughing and spluttering, her hair plastered to her head and tendrils of green weed clinging to her arms. Harry barked commands to the offending rower:

"Hang onto the boat you blithering idiot!"

He reached over the side and half lifted, half dragged Ruth back into the boat. Even in the midst of his anger and concern he could not fail to notice that the soaking had rendered the silk material of Ruth's dress transparent and it now clung to the outline of her breasts and legs leaving nothing to the imagination.

A stricken apologetic voice cut across Harry's aroused thoughts:

"I'm terribly sorry. Catherine told me it was all clear behind."

Ruth looked across in horror to see the guilty face of the young city trader and beside him a clearly amused Catherine Palmerston.

"If you're not capable of looking where you're going you shouldn't be rowing a bloody boat."

"Please Harry, let's just get out of here."

Harry gave one more death stare at a triumphant Catherine and manoeuvred the boat towards the shore.

"So much for a romantic morning on the water. Are you hurt Ruth?"

"No, just my pride. I'm fine. I feel such a fool. Just look at me."

Harry chuckled

"I'm having extreme difficulty doing anything else."

Ruth blushed as she looked down at the thin sodden material that clung to her contours like a second skin.

"Oh God, I can't walk up to the hotel like this."

"Don't worry, I'll carry you."

"No you will not!! I'm not having the entire hotel laughing at me."

"Well I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You'll garner far more attention if you walk up to the hotel like that so I'm afraid you will have to put up and shut up."

The last phrase was said with more than a hint of Yorkshire brogue which reminded Ruth of Harry's northern roots that were normally hidden beneath the neutral educated tones of his everyday accent; being only occasionally hinted at in the use of a shortened 'a' sound on certain words. Any residual arguments were cut short by Harry, who having handed over the mooring rope to the grinning attendant swept up a shivering Ruth from the boat and firmly carried her up the path towards the hotel.

"You're surprisingly heavy for someone so small."

"Well, this was your bright idea, not mine."

"I know, but you'd make it a great deal easier if you'd put your arms around my neck."

"As in me Vivian Leigh, you Clark Gable."

"No, as in I'll leave you to walk the last hundred yards if you don't."

"What girl could resist such a chivalrous invitation?"

Ruth cupped her arms around Harry's neck and the sensation of the proximity of her wet body brought back to him all the excitement and intimacy of their previous evening together. Harry accelerated his pace and swept through the entrance and up the main stairs in true '_Gone with the Wind_' style, much to the bemusement of the receptionist. Harry managed to open the door to Ruth's room and deposited her feet first on the floor.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes immediately before you catch pneumonia."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" replied Ruth with raised eyebrows.

"Fuck Catherine's cameras."

"Harry!"

Ruth was taken aback. Harry was notable in the department for rarely resorting to expletives.

"I mean it Ruth, I've had enough."

Harry swiftly removed the hidden cameras in the bedroom and bathroom and threw them into a bedside drawer, slamming it shut. He then brought out his phone and speed dialled.

"Hello yes, Adam. Is everything in place? Right. Activate Tinkerbell. I've reached the end of my patience."

Ruth caught Harry by the arm.

"What's that about?"

Harry turned towards her, his eyes still cold with anger.

"Adam is going to arrange the removal of Catherine and her schoolboy companion."

"You can't do that Harry. She'll kick up an absolute fuss and cause all sorts of trouble. This is why I didn't want to come on this weekend. I've told you there's too much at stake."

"Yes" he replied softly stroking the side of her face, his expression changing into one of love and desire

"Our happiness, and I for one am not going to let Catherine bloody Palmerston or petty bureaucracy spoil it."

Ruth glanced at Harry with a sudden look of horror as the implications of what she had just learnt dawned on her.

"Adam's here isn't he Harry? You told him about our weekend."

Harry unwisely assumed the patronising fatherly tone he used with young female operatives who were slow to grasp information

"I'm afraid it was necessary once I knew Catherine Palmerston was here and causing a problem."

Ruth's eyes grew stormy

"Tell me Harry. Tell me that Adam is the only one down here."

Harry looked uncomfortable and he opened and shut his mouth several times whilst he searched for the words to admit to Ruth the actual situation without enflaming her anger – in which he failed miserably because Ruth interrupted him before he could say anything.

"I don't need an answer. I can see from your face he's not alone. Who else is there? Zaf? Jo? Ros? Malcolm? The whole of Section D camped out in the woods? Why didn't you just go onto the rooftop of Thames House with a megaphone and broadcast to the world 'I, Harry Pearce, Head of Section D of MI5 am taking my Intelligence Analyst on a mini break shagathon. Interested spectators can buy ringside seats!'What did I say to you Harry? What was the one thing I asked?

By this point Ruth was shouting at Harry, her eyes blazing and tears of anger brimming up in her eyes.

"Ruth."

"No, get out Harry. Get out of my room. I can't bear this. How can I face them all again?"

Harry stood his ground and resisting Ruth's efforts to push him through the door caught her by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall.

"Stop caring what other people think Ruth. This is not a dirty weekend. I love you and if it makes you any happier I will broadcast it to the entire department and if necessary the whole of London."

"No it won't make me happier Harry. Don't you see, I wanted privacy – we needed privacy. I can't face the sniggering and the gossip. I'm going to go home. Forget about Catherine, tell Adam and whoever else is here to leave."

Harry looked down, captivated by the large expressive eyes. He recalled another occasion when he had pinned an angry Ruth to the wall and tried to convince her that his manipulation of her feelings was justified by the greater good; how he had come within a hair's breath of kissing her and declaring his feelings, but had allowed his head to rule his heart. Determined not to relive that frustration again Harry lowered his head and kissed her repeatedly with a passionate insistence that drew them both into a vortex of sexual desire. Gasping both from arousal and a need for oxygen Ruth pushed Harry away from her body.

"This isn't going to solve anything."

"I want you Ruth" he growled in his most provocative tones.

"I know, but we're not living in a bubble. This is not Last Tango in Surrey. We make love and what then? Catherine Palmerston, Adam, Zaf, Jo and God knows who else, they're all still here. The problem doesn't go away Harry. I don't want to lose my job and more particularly I don't want you to lose yours. This is going to be horrendously embarrassing, but salvageable."

Ruth's expression and voice softened as she saw the look of disappointment and sadness in Harry's eyes.

"You said earlier that you loved me Ruth. Did you mean it?"

"Yes of course I meant it. I love you more completely and intensely than I have ever loved anyone.."

Ruth reached out a small cold hand and stroked his cheek in a gesture of tenderness

"but not all love stories have a happy ending. There are much bigger things at stake than our romantic inclinations. We should not have crossed the line Harry, we should have just left it as something felt but not expressed."

In response Harry gently pulled her wet body towards him and hugged her, feathering soft kisses onto the top of her head.

"I don't …regret…anything.."

He tipped up her face towards him and kissed her again, not with insistent sexual passion this time, but with affection and tenderness.

"Don't go anywhere Ruth. Have a warm shower. I'll send everyone back to London and we'll start again on this weekend. I'm tired of being the sacrificial goat for the good of the Service. I'm not giving up on us Ruth and neither are you. That's an order."

With a last hug and kiss Harry went out of the door and into his own room.

"Hello Adam, I'm afraid I had to tell Ruth about your presence. No, no, Tinkerbell is to go ahead as we agreed, but with minimum disturbance."


	15. Chapter 15

_**THE NEW RECRUIT**_

_**Chapter 15**_

_**The Lake**_

Meanwhile Catherine Palmerston was trying to feign interest as Tim extolled the joys of the forthcoming cricket fixtures at the Oval.

"It's all very riveting Tim, but the only interest I ever had in cricket was sipping champagne in a deckchair during my brother's school sports day. I'd rather talk about something closer to my own hobbies."

"For example?"

Catherine smiled and rubbed the palm of her hand over the young man's groin.

"Oh I don't know, for instance shagging in a rowing boat."

The young man's eyes filled with panic.

"We can't do that here we'll capsize."

"No we won't, not if you do as I tell you. Now lie down flat in the boat, pull down your pants and let me do the rest."

Catherine was established in a settled rhythm of apparently energetic rowing when a madly waving attendant caught her eye, who appeared to be trying to catch her attention.

"Oh bloody hell, what does he want?"

Tim's head lurched up.

"Oh my God he's seen us."

"No he hasn't you idiot, keep still."

Catherine sighed deeply with annoyance and uncoupling herself from Tim rowed back towards the shore.

"This had better be good. What the hell do you want?"

"There's an urgent message for you Ms Palmerston at the hotel."

"What message?" replied Catherine suspiciously.

"Er, I believe it says contact London immediately."

Catherine crossly pulled out her mobile phone and groaned with irritation as it failed to show a signal.

"Where is this – Outer Mongolia? Why is there no signal? " and muttered under her breath

"If this is you Adam Carter I'm going to cut your balls off."

"I'm afraid the signal isn't very good here, we're in a dip of the South Downs."

"Thank you, but if I wanted a geography lesson I'd have gone back to school."

Catherine turned to the red-faced Tim still sitting in the boat.

"I'll have to go up to the hotel. Timmy be a dear, make yourself useful and bring the things up to our room."

Catherine strode away from the mooring and up the same path that Harry had carried a dripping Ruth only fifteen minutes earlier.

As Tim bent over to help tie up the boat and obediently empty it, he failed to notice two figures approaching until they stood next to him.

"Mr Timothy Harrington?"

Tim straightened up with a worried and puzzled expression on his face. A smartly dressed man of Asian appearance held out an official ID to him.

"My name's Asim Malik, I'm with the Fraud Squad, this is my colleague Miranda Walker."

Here the man gestured to an attractive willowy blond dressed in a tight navy suit.

"We have reason to believe you have been involved in illegal insider dealing along with several other employees of your firm."

"That's nonsense. This is ridiculous. I haven't done anything wrong."

"I'm sorry you will have to accompany us back to London to answer some questions."

Tim's protests were ignored by the rather intimidating official who took him firmly by the arm and marched him towards a waiting car.

"Ur … I can't just go like that. I'm here with someone. All my things are in my room."

"You're belongings are already in the car. Don't worry about your lady-friend. She's being well taken care of."

Catherine Palmerston walked up the incline towards the main entrance of the hotel as she continued to try her phone.

"Why hasn't this bloody thing got a signal?" she muttered to herself in irritation.

"Are you sure it's switched on, technology has never been your strong point has it Catherine?"

Catherine's head jerked up at the familiar voice and she found herself staring up into the cold blue gaze of her colleague.

"If you've come to remove me Adam, I warn you I won't go quietly and I'm not just referring to how loudly I can scream."

Adam smiled back at her with a relaxed sardonic expression.

"On the contrary Catherine, I'm not here to kidnap you, I've something to show you."

In a gesture of mock civility Adam indicated that Catherine should proceed into the hotel and then guided her into a small lounge where the curtains were drawn and a plasma screen flickered on the wall

"If you wanted to watch porn Adam you only had to ask."

Adam gestured to Catherine to sit down on the couch. Taking a disc out of his breast pocket he opened a DVD player that was located discreetly behind a wooden panel and slid it in. Suddenly the screen was filled with a still frame of the alluring figure of Catherine Palmerston naked apart from Harry's shirt.

"I'm sure if Turnbull and Asser fancy a more sexed-up image for this years ad campaign they would pay an impressive fee for your services Catherine."

"Where the hell did you get this? There weren't any cameras in the living room I checked."

"As I said before Catherine, technology's not your strong point. It takes the best to trap the best and I'd say you've been well and truly snookered on this occasion."

Adam pressed the remote control and the scene at Harry's house began to replay in a high quality recording that captured both the image and sound in perfect detail. Catherine looked momentarily flustered but then her normal haughty expression fell into place.

"And? …Am I meant to be frightened by this? Grow up. It just shows that I'm damned good at my job."

"Well yes, except in this instance I didn't notice Harry dropping his boxers and succumbing to your charms, but we'll let that pass. What it shows is a junior operative trying to corrupt and bribe a Section Head. The Service takes a dim view of such activities, well at least those recorded on tape and distributed to all departments."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me."

Catherine's face assumed a sulky expression as she watched herself sucking Harry Pearce's finger although even in the tight corner that she found herself in at that moment her thoughts turned to sex as she recalled the taste and feel of Harry's broad finger and felt a responding tingle in her groin.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to back off Catherine. Leave Harry and Ruth alone. Go and find another focus for your undoubted talents."

"Is that it? You mean the great Adam Carter and the might of Section D have pooled their resources just to get little old me to stop propositioning your boss? I thought Harry Pearce was a big enough boy to fight his own battles?"

Adam sighed with exasperation

"I have better things to do Catherine than sit here all day bandying insults. Your cases are already packed in the car and your toy boy is on his way back to London."

Adam opened the DVD player and retrieving the disc, slipped it back into his jacket. Catherine responded by holding out her hand.

"Oh no Catherine, this is an insurance against future lapses."

"I'm not so stupid Adam as to presume either that it's the only one or that if it was you would be willing to hand it over. No I'd just like a copy, it's the closest I've got to bedding Harry Pearce, so I'd like it as a momento."

"You're not the sort to indulge in sentimentality Catherine. If you want souvenirs try the Tower of London."

Catherine rose from the couch and stood close to Adam so that her body undulated against his and stroked his chest.

"When Harry elopes with little Red Riding Hood to Gretna Green and you get his position don't forget to give me a ring. I'm sure we could make a very interesting video just you and I and that large desk in his office."

Adam smiled back flirtatiously

"I'll bear that in mind Catherine, but you'll have to join the queue, I've had quite a few tempting offers already."

As Ruth sat on the edge of her bed the telephone on top of the bedside table rang with a jarringly loud tone that could not be ignored. Ruth lifted the receiver cautiously

"All quiet on the western front?" intoned a soft low voice.

"Is that a question or a declaration?"

"Both. Are you willing to meet on no-mans-land and discuss a ceasefire?"

"I wasn't aware that we were at war?"

"Well perhaps not war, but definitely hostilities. I've got the bruises to prove it."

"Excuse me, who slammed who against the wall?"

"Guilty as charged your Worship and in grave danger of re-offending."

It took Ruth a few seconds to realise that the last sentence came not from the telephone held to her head, but from the man who had silently entered her room and was standing only feet away from her. She sighed in mock annoyance and replaced the receiver

"I wish you'd stop sneaking up on people, it's a very irritating ha ……"

Ruth was prevented from completing her sentence by Harry who advanced and pushed her down on the bed.

"What precisely do you think you're doing Harry?"

"Pressing home my advantage of course – a classic military manoeuvre. Are you ready to surrender?"

Ruth giggled and snorted her reply

"Only if you agree to a tactical withdrawal."

"Ruth!"

Needless to say Ruth's capitulation to his superior force was immediate and absolute without the need for further negotiation.

_**A Magical Mystery Tour**_

Ruth and Harry took lunch in the traditional elegant surroundings of the formal dining area of the hotel. Harry, gazing across the table at Ruth, whose face was animated as she described the long summers spent at her grandparent's house, felt like a teenager: infatuated, aroused ( his mind preoccupied by images of Ruth's body and the sensation of climaxing inside her) but at the same time consumed by an adult passion that made him feel both exhilarated and vulnerable. For so long he had had to look but not touch, think but not act. The old adage that it's better to journey than to arrive seemed at that moment very far from the truth. The tantalising longing for Ruth had been replaced by a feeling of joy and serenity that he never remembered experiencing before, even in the heady days of his youthful affairs. She brought out in him an old-fashioned chivalric desire to nurture and care for her, to shield her from danger. He acknowledged that such an attitude would be dismissed in the modern world as chauvinism, but there it was. His prevailing strengths of logic, pragmatism and emotional reserve (all essential qualities for a successful spy) had flown out of the window in the face of this overwhelming and transforming emotion.

"If you continue to look at me like that the rest of the guests will presume I'm wining and dining the local village idiot."

Harry, unrepentant replied

" _This is the very ecstasy of love."_

"Well may be, but please keep some sense of decorum. Remember your training? Observe and observed at all times? Besides which, English gentlemen are not meant to look quite so aroused at the dinner table."

The look of undiluted lust in Harry's eyes was muted by a glint of humour.

"Oh I'm no gentleman Ruth so don't expect me to play by the rules."

Harry picked up her hand and planted a kiss on her inside wrist that seemed to burn her flesh with its intensity.

"Do you fancy the sea bass or the bream?" Ruth said faintly as she pulled her hand back and pretended to study the menu. A sensual voice murmured back with an impudent inflection

"You can run but you cannot hide."

"No, and I can't eat either unless you stop behaving like a sex-starved adolescent and decide on your food."

"Spoil-sport" replied Harry in a mock-peevish voice and calling over the waiter, quickly and expertly ordered their lunch.

"Thank you sir, there will be a slight delay until we serve the first course perhaps Sir and Madam would care to take an aperitif on the terrace? I will call you when it is ready."

Harry took up the offer with alacrity, guiding Ruth through the French doors. Immediately after they had stepped onto the terrace he pulled her out of sight of the dining room and began to kiss her passionately, his hands threaded through her hair whilst his body pressed her against the wall, releasing a fragrant scent of jasmine from the climber that clung to the mellow red brick.

"Can't you two get a room? Oh of course, I forgot you already have."

Ruth and Harry sprung apart, both flustered and embarrassed to see an amused Adam leaning against the door. Harry hastily assumed his professional mask of composure.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to come all Section Head with me Harry. I may now have definite proof that you are human after all but I promise that I won't spread it around.."

Harry relaxed and smiled fondly at Adam

"Well you're life wouldn't be worth living if you did. Do you have any specific reason to be here or is this purely a social call?"

"Er yes. Tinkerbell has been put to sleep."

Ruth's eyes widened in alarm as she forgot her embarrassment and looked directly at Adam.

"By Tinkerbell, I presume you mean Catherine Palmerston? Good God Adam, don't tell me you've killed her?"

Adam and Harry both snorted with amusement

"Tempting but no, nothing so final. I just pointed out that this hotel was not conducive to a peaceful weekend and she is re-locating back to London."

Ruth looked suspiciously from Adam to Harry and back to Adam

"What exactly did you do to get her to leave? She's not the sort to give up easily."

Adam looked across at Harry who imperceptibly shook his head.

"Oh I just offered her a night at my place. Who in their right mind would turn down such an opportunity?"

This statement was accompanied by Adam striking a modelling pose with a twinkle in his eye and a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Ruth looked crossly at them both

"You're both lying toads, but don't worry, I'll find out the truth in the end."

Harry sighed in resigned acknowledgement of the veracity of her declaration. He turned to Adam and shook his hand briefly.

"Thanks Adam. I appreciate this. I'll see you on Monday."

Adam smiled and on impulse reached out and patted Harry on the arm whilst kissing Ruth on the cheek

"I'm really happy for both of you. I can't think of anyone I'd rather see together. I'd love to stay and discuss wedding lists but I've got a hot date of my own waiting for me in the car."

Ruth touched by his words and aware that their situation must bring painful recollections of his relationship with Fiona to mind; reached out and pulling his head down kissed him back. Anyone looking at Harry at that moment would have caught a flash of jealousy as he watched Ruth embrace her tall achingly handsome colleague. Fortunately the waiter interrupted the embrace which Adam had been happy to accept. He had never looked upon Ruth as a potential date but he fully appreciated why Harry was so bewitched by her beauty and intellect and the sensation of her soft full lips on his cheek and the scent of her delicate perfume was beginning to evoke a sensual response. Oh well from the sublime to the predictable: Adam left Harry and Ruth to their lunch and strode back to Catherine Palmerston sulking in the passenger seat of his car.

"Finished giving your end-of-term report to Daddy? Thank God for that. I thought it was going to take you the rest of the day to extricate your tongue from Harry's bottom. Now can we go home?"

Adam sat down abruptly in the driver's seat and wrenched his seatbelt across his body. He predicted it was going to be a long journey with Catherine – alternating spiteful repartee with sexual overtures and whilst he was adept and experienced at the thrust and parry of professional seductions, he would quite frankly prefer to drive back in peace and quiet and spend the afternoon with Wes in the park. He was determined however to secure privacy for Harry and Ruth for the remainder of their break and to do that he would need to keep an eye on Catherine. The bribery of the CCTV footage of her at Harry's place might have been enough to make her back off and leave Coddingham Court, but he knew her capitulation was at best temporary. Harry had rejected Catherine's advances and a woman like Catherine did not take public humiliation lying down. She wanted revenge and sooner or later she would devise a method of causing trouble for him so if the mini-break was to stand any sort of chance then football in the park would have to wait.

_**Scene: the inside of Harry's Car**_

Fluffy cumuli clouds drifted across a blue sky as Harry's car cruised smoothly through the narrow leafy roads.

"I've been thinking I might buy myself a house in the country. A bolt hole from the pollution and pressures of work."

"Why?"

"I would have thought that was obvious."

"Well for most people perhaps, but not for you Harry. When would you get out to a country property? You scarcely see the inside of your London house as it is. You spend all day every day at work, weekends included. I ought to know, I'm as sad a case as you are, because most of the time I'm there as well."

Harry smiled across at her.

"Well perhaps it's time we both reassessed our priorities. The ratio of work to leisure time in our lives in imbalanced even for two spooks."

"You're living in cloud cuckoo land Harry. You can't take your foot off the accelerator and even if you wanted to the job won't let you."

Ruth mimicked picking up a telephone:

"Hello oh yes, a major terrorist alert you said, well I'm sorry I can't make it I'm pruning my petunias."Harry chuckled

"Change doesn't happen unless you make it. There are a number of properties in this area that might be suitable, I would ideally prefer something by the coast with a boat, but I agree that would be an impracticable distance from Thames House. Would you mind if we have a look at one or two?"

"If you wanted a companion for a house search you should have invited Kirstie Allsopp for the weekend, but no Harry, I don't mind looking at a few houses as long as it doesn't take all afternoon."

They drove through successive small picturesque villages and down winding country lanes until Ruth's head was spinning. They stopped at several old churches; took refreshment at a quaint timber-framed pub and discounted three or four properties with For Sale notices outside, that were either too close to the road or too ugly to be a viable proposition. Satiated on scones and cream and bewildered by the never-ending hedgerows and cottages that flashed past her window, Ruth, despite her best endeavours to stay alert felt her eyelids close. Thus she was not aware of the direction they were taking, indeed not aware that the car had stopped moving until Harry's lips met hers.

"Wake up sleepy head, there's a house I'd like you to look at."

Ruth opened her eyes crossly

"Harry, I was enjoying that sl…… Oh my God, I don't believe it! How did you know where it was?"

Ruth's hand flew to her mouth as she gazed through the windscreen at her grandparents old home.

"I have you file remember Ruth."

Ruth sat transfixed,

"Yes but it doesn't go into that much detail – I took a peek at it after you used it to manipulate me."

"I didn't manipulate you Ruth. I just encouraged you to utilise your past history with Angela to our advantage."

"Pure semantics. Are you sure you haven't missed your true vocation Harry? With you talent for evasion and half truth you would be a perfect politician."

"Now you're just being insulting. Come on let's look around."

"We can't just barge into someone's house like this Harry."

"It's alright, I checked, the owner is away for the weekend."

Harry got out of the car and opened the door for a reluctant Ruth. He took her firmly by the hand and led her up a brick-paved pathway to a door that lay in shadow beneath an open wooden porch. The property was set back from the road and screened by mature trees and shrubbery. It was constructed of the same mellow brick as Cotterham Court and dated from the same mid-C17th period. An abundant display of old-fashioned pink roses climbed over the walls that flanked the porch and their scent hung in the air as Harry brought out a long thin metal tool and neatly picked the lock. Ruth was outraged:

"We can't break into someone's house like this Harry, without a good reason."

Harry ignored her protestations and led her into the interior.

"We have a good reason. You're going to take a trip back down memory lane. Now then, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to show me around?"

Ruth decided that as Harry was so determined to violate the owner's privacy, the best option was to go round and get out as quickly as possible. She led him through successive rooms with beamed low ceilings, wide oak floorboards and bressumered fireplaces. Little had changed structurally since her grandparents had lived there, but the place felt empty with only the minimal amount of furniture needed to cover basic needs – a few rugs scattered on the floors and the odd painting on the wall. No personal touches, no photographs and certainly none of the clutter that had greeted her whenever she had arrived there all those years ago. Ruth turned impassioned to Harry

"Typical of the weekender, no soul, no commitment. These are the very people who are destroying village life – stocking up at their city supermarkets, whizzing down for a quick touchy-feely encounter with the countryside and then buggering off back to their sleek Canary Wharf flats."

"Isn't that just a teeny weeny bit stereotyping." Glancing at her face however Harry recognised the signs of a full-blown diatribe in the making and hastily decided to head her off:

"On the other hand I do see your point. So shall we see what the kitchen of the typical absentee-owner looks like?"

Ruth stood in the large flag-stoned kitchen and gazed with tear-filled eyes at the old cream Aga that was still in situ.

"I hope this isn't upsetting for you Ruth."

"No no, I only have happy memories of being here. My grandparents both lived to a good age and died quietly in their sleep, you couldn't ask for a better end. It's just ….you know… thinking back to when they lived here. I'm sure it's the classic rose-tinted spectacles scenario but life felt so secure then – I felt I had a home, that I belonged somewhere. I miss it, not just this house but the sense of belonging, of being protected."

Harry replied softly

"_When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish things."_

Ruth smiled back

"Yes I know, but it's also good to escape back into childhood once in a while. Anyway shall we go into the garden."

"Ah yes, the focus of your childhood days as I recall. I'm afraid I can't guarantee too many buzzing bees at this time of year."

The old fashioned garden of lawns flanked by beds of long-stemmed fragrant flowers and roses gave out on a breath-taking view of the South Downs. Harry came up behind Ruth and put his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into her shoulder.

"I can see why you loved this place so much."

He paused and turned her around to face him.

"I want To say something Ruth. I know we've only just acknowledged our feelings for each other, but if we're honest we'd admit that we've felt like this for longer than it was good for either of us to keep suppressed. So, anyway, I feel as if we've had a relationship or at least a commitment, not just now, but for a very long time."

Ruth squeezed his arm encouragingly and said quietly

"I know Harry, but if this is leading to some sort of proposal, it's too soon; there are too many obstacles, we both know that."

"Damn the obstacles, but no Ruth - well I do have a proposal, but not of marriage; well that is to say I have every intention of asking but not here and now."

Harry stroked her face and kissed her softly

"I have a confession to make. I've brought you here under false pretences. I didn't need to get the owner's permission because actually I am the owner."

Ruth's eyes widened in surprise and anger

"What the hell do you mean you're the owner?"

"I er, I saw the cottage advertised when I was browsing through the Country Life magazine a few weeks ago, I liked the look of it and when I rang up for details I recognised that it was the same address as your grandparents house."

"I still haven't bottomed out how you know where my grandparents lived; but never mind that for now. Why precisely did you buy it?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably under her attack.

"I liked the look of the cottage as I said and I fell in love with the view when I came to see the property." Here Harry's voice lowered

"I was already in love with one of it's previous occupants and it seemed a fortuitous buy."

Ruth, having calmed down after the initial shock of his declaration replied

"So this whole mini-break was just a ruse to reveal what you'd done?"

"Well not exactly. Oliver Mace did lean on the DG to get rid of me for a few days – I suspect so that he could tie up some of his murkier loose ends without me looking over his shoulder and I desperately wanted some time alone with you; but yes, it did cross my mind that if I booked a place around this area that the opportunity might arise to bring you here."

"Well I'm here. So what do you want me to do – lie in the grass and pretend to be seven again or congratulate you for being a devious bastard again?"

Harry's reply was quiet and hesitant

"I want you to love me Ruth and I would like you to share this place with me. Somewhere we can come away from the demands of the Service and snooping eyes. Just you and me and the petunias."

Ruth smiled back at him, unable to sustain her anger.

"There aren't any petunias here Harry, but it's a very sweet generous idea. I'm sorry I was crochety, I'm not very good with surprises."

"That's alright, you ought to know me by now, opposition only makes me doubly determined to win the argument."

Harry sat down on the mossy lawn and pulled Ruth down next to him. She lay in his arms with her head resting against his chest as they both gazed up at the sky and relaxed in the silence.

"I do agree with your family, this is a perfect place for children to play."

Ruth pulled his head down towards hers

"You, Harry Pearce, are putting the cart way, way before the horse. We'll think about our long term future only after we've decided on what colour to re-paint the lounge."

Harry groaned his protest before he was silenced by the feel of her lips fusing to his and her fingers opening the buttons of his shirt.

_**Finished at last! – So much for making this a short fic, although I must admit I will miss Catherine. I'm off to Hungary for a couple of weeks (plenty of postcard opportunities!) so please leave plenty of reviews for this last chapter and indeed the whole fic and just maybe I might be encouraged to embark on another when I return.(On the other hand if the thought fills you with dread then now is the opportunity to put a stop to further efforts).**_


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